UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


ROBERT  ERNEST  COWAN 


•BY- 


L 


ESPERANZA 


BY 
SUSAN    L, .    VA  t,  E  R  G  A 


Copyright,     1911 

By 
Susan     L.    Valerga 

Dramatization  Copyright  1910 

By 
Susan  L.   Valerga 


All    Rights    Reserved 


PRESS  OF 

BROWN  &  POWER  STATIONERY  Co. 

327  335  CALIFORNIA  STREET 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  Page 

I — Lucette's  Confession    9 

II — Unexpected    News    15 

III— A   True    Friend 23 

IV— Adele's    Strategy    28 

V — Preparing  for  the  Visitors 34 

VI — Lucette's    Request    39 

VII — The   Gypsy's   Phophecy    45 

*v       VIII— The   Arrival    49 

IX— The  Proposed  Trip    58 

X — The  Conspiracy  64 

XI— Jute's  Outing   71 

XII — The  Exchanged  Rose 75 

XIII — The  Clandestine  Appointment..   81 

XIV— Roderick  DeMonte's  Vow 85 

XV— The  Blow  100 

XVI — Esperanza's  Mountain  Hut 104 

XVII— The  Murder 114 

XVIII— The  Discovered  Weapon 123 

XIX— Six  Weeks  Later 126 

XX— The  Promise  132 

XXI— The  Eagle's  Rest 147 

XXII— The  Assault 154 

XXIII— Tracked 160 

XXIV— The  Cave  in  the  Sierras. .          .  .164 


2861284 


INTRODUCTION. 


Dear  Friends : 

In  offering  this  norcl  for  your  kind  con 
sideration,  my  sincere  wish  is,  that  it  may 
serve  as  a  pastime,  for  the  ever-fleeting  hour. 
If  so,  I  shall  feel  thoroughly  recompensed  for 
having  introduced  "Esperama"— signifying 
Hope.  Trusting  that  my  earnest  endeavor,  of 
Esperanto's  thrilling  romance  amidst  the 
Sierras  may  not  fail  to  interest  the  critical 

public, 

Yours  interrogatory, 

SUSAN  L.   VALERGA. 


CHAPTER  I. 
LUCETTE'S  CONFESSION 

The  spacious  living  room  of  the  Fielding 
home  held  an  occupant  in  the  person  of 
Adele  Thorn  the  handsome  dark-eyed  gov 
erness  of  Mr.  Fielding's  ward,  Lucette 
Westly. 

The  morning  being  extremely  warm,  Adele, 
seated  in  a  comfortable  easy  chair,  had  fallen 
asleep.  The  book  she  had  been  reading  fell 
from  her  listless  hand,  awakening  her  just 
as  Mr.  Fielding,  attired  in  a  light  gray  serge 
suit,  entered  the  room.  Removing  his  broad 
panama,  he  uncovered  a  wealth  of  silver  gray 
hair,  which  set  off  his  ruddy  good-natured 
face. 

''What  an  extremely  sultry  morning,"  he 
remarked,  removing  his  gloves.  Suddenly 
perceiving  Adele,  who  quickly  arose,  he  said, 
bowing:  "Pardon  me,  Miss  Thorn,  for  hav 
ing  disturbed  you." 

"Really,  I  am  indebted  to  you,  Mr. 
9 


Fielding  for  having  done  so,"  she  said,  look 
ing  at  her  watch.  "I  have  several  duties 
which  require  my  attention.  With  your  kind 
permission  I  beg  leave  to  retire."  Adele  turn 
ing  to  go,  Mr.  Fielding  graciously  asked: 
"Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  inform  Lucette 
that  I  wish  to  speak  to  her?" 

"Certainly,  sir;  I  will  deliver  your  message 

directly,"  Adele  replied  with  a  slight  bow,  as 
she  turned  to  go. 

"Strange,"  said  Mr.  Fielding,  seating  him 
self,  "how  nervous  Adele  always  appears  to 
be  when  in  my  presence." 

"Ha!  ha!"  he  joyfully  exclaimed,  as  he 
heard  a  peal  of  light-hearted  laughter  out 
side.  "Here  comes  my  little  truant  now. 
How  her  merry  laughter  thrills  my  heart." 
Rising,  he  greeted  Lucette  who,  smiling, 
bounded  into  the  room.  Her  soft  radiant 
beauty  was  electrified  by  her  girlish  expres 
sion.  Her  lovely  clear  brow  was  surrounded 
by  a  mass  of  golden  curls,  the  tinge  of  which 
enhanced  the  glory  of  her  beautiful  azure 
eyes.  Her  form  was  round,  dainty  and  sup 
ple.  Carelessly  removing  her  large  garden 
hat  she  tossed  it  aside,  as  she  ran  to  Mr. 
Fielding  to  receive  his  morning  kiss.  She 
then  sat  down  on  the  footstool  at  his  feet. 
10 


"Well,  Lucette,"  said  he,  stroking  her  curls. 
"My,  but  you're  fresh  and  rosy !  Where 
were  you  so  early?" 

"In  the  garden.  I  was  waiting  for  Leigh 
to  pluck  me  some  roses,  when  Adele  deliv 
ered  your  message,  so  off  I  ran  without 
them."  And  looking  sweetly  up  into  Mr. 
Fielding's  face  she  laughingly  continued:  "So 
here  I  am." 

"I'm  very  much  afraid  that  Leigh  will 
bestow  .  the  roses  upon  your  governess, 
Adele." 

Lucette  quickly  replied :  "Leigh  and  Adele 
are  not  friends,  so  my  bouquet  will  be  per 
fectly  safe." 

"Not  friends?"  questioned  Mr.  Fielding  in 
a  surprised  tone.  "Why?" 

"I'll  tell  you.  Listen.  Yesterday  morning 
Adele  inquired  of  Leigh  if  there  had  been 
any  mail  received  from  Lieutenant  Fielding. 
Leigh  answered  slowly,  'None.'  Adele  then 
turning  to  me  laughingly  said,  'What  a  pity, 
Lucette,  the  lieutenant  must  surely  have  for 
gotten  you.'  Leigh,  with  a  slight  sneer,  an 
swered  Adele,  saying,  'What  a  pity  it  is  that 
some  folks  forget  to  mind  their  own  affairs.' 
Adele  cast  an  indignant  look  at  Leigh. 
11 


shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  then  walked  has 
tily  away." 

"And  then,"  inquired  Mr.   Fielding. 

"I  asked  Leigh  for  what  reason  he  spoke 
in  such  an  abrupt  manner  to  Adele." 

"Thoughtful  little  heart,"  murmured  Mr 
Fielding,  aside. 

"Leigh  looked  at  me,"  steadily  continued 
Lucette,  "then  asked  me  the  following  ques 
tion:  'Have  you  ever  felt  an  aversion  toward 
a  person  which  you  could  not  account  for?' 
A  thought  flashed  through  my  mind  and  I 
quickly  answered,  'Yes.'  Leigh  then  coolly 
remarked,  'Miss  Lucette,  take  my  advice. 
Don't  place  too  much  confidence  in  Adele 
Thorn.'  " 

"Indeed,"  said  Mr.  Fielding,  elevating  his 
brow.  "I  begged  Leigh  to  be  more  explicit, 
but  further  discourse  was  interrupted  by  a 
visitor." 

"I  must  certainly  inquire  into  this  affair," 
thought  Mr.  Fielding  to  himself. 

"Tell  me,  Lucette,  for  whom  have  you  felt 
an  aversion?"  asked  Mr.  Fielding,  stroking 
Lucette's  golden  curls.  Lucette,  casting  down 
her  full  blue  eyes,  hesitatingly  replied:  "I 
would  rather  not  say — because — " 
12 


"Because,"  interrupted  Mr.  Fielding,  impa 
tiently.  "Because — what?  Speak,  child." 

Lucette  solemnly  looking  up,  tremblingly 
replied:  "Because — he  is  one — " 

"Oh !  this  suspense,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Fielding,  clasping  his  hands  together.  "One 
— speak,  Lucette."  Lucette  looked  at  him 
amazed  then  eagerly  replied :  "Dear  me ! 
You  look  so  worried,  sir,  but  if  I  must 
speak,  I'm  sorry  to  acknowledge  that  it  is  one 
of  Lieutenant  Fielding's  friends." 

"Ah  !v  returned  Mr.  Fielding,  as  he  gave  a 
sigh  of  relief,  "I'm  heartily  glad  it  is  not 
my  son." 

"No,  indeed,"  continued  Lucette  forcibly. 
"It  is  his  college  chum,  Roderick  De  Monte." 

"Too  bad,  Lucette,  De  Monte  impresses 
you  that  way,  but  I  am  overjoyed  that  you 
think  favorably  of  my  boy,  selfish  as  it  may 
seem,"  said  he,  rising,  and  clearing  his  throat. 

"Think  favorably  of  Lieutenant  Fielding?" 
emphasized  Lucette.  "Why  not?  He  is 
true,  noble  and  to  me,  a  very  dear  friend." 
A  tear  seemed  to  dim  her  beautiful  azure 
eyes. 

"Lucette,"  said  Mr.  Fielding  softly,  clasp 
ing  her  hand  and  looking  earnestly  into  her 
face.  "Child,  my  cherished  hope  lies  in  the 
13 


fond  expectation  that  some  day  you  may 
become  a  nearer — a  dearer — friend  to  my 
boy.  In  fact — his  wife." 

Lucette  with  a  burning  blush  mantling  her 
cheek  tremblingly  replied :  "The  lieutenant 
and  I  have  not  met  one  another  for  at  least 
a  year ;  probably  he  may  have  forgotten  me." 
Choking  back  a  sob  that  seemed  to  rise  in  her 
throat,  she  huskily  said:  "Adele  quotes, 
'Out  of  sight,  out  of  mind' ;  but,"  she  con 
tinued,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "I  can  never  forget 
him." 

"Lay  no  significance  whatsoever  upon  that 
which  Adele  may  quote,  only  in  regard  to 
your  lessons.  Rest  assured,"  continued  Mr. 
Fielding,  kissing  Lucette  lightly  upon  her 
forehead,  "Bert  will  not  be  likely  to  forget 
an  angel,  such  as  you  are.  Depend  upon  it, 
Lucette." 


14 


CHAPTER  II. 

UNEXPECTED    NEWS 

The  door  suddenly  opened,  and  on  the 
threshold  there  stood  the  privileged  little  col 
ored  domestic,  Jute,  scrutinizing  two  letters, 
which  she  closely  held  in  her  chubby  little 
black  hand.  Slowly  advancing  toward  the 
table,  she  placed  them  in  front  of  Mr. 
Fielding,-  saying:  "Dar  am  yo'  letters, 
massa."  Then,  perceiving  Lucette,  she  puck 
ered  up  her  thick  red  lips  and  in  a  perplexed 
tone  asked  Lucette  the  reason  "dey  were 
gwyne  to  put  dat  new  filter  on  de  fauc't  fo'." 

Lucette  laughingly  replied :  "Why,  Jute, 
child.  To  filter  the  water." 

"  'N  Leigh  tole  dis  chile  it  were  to  cotch 
all  color'd  matter,"  poutingly  returned  Jute, 
as  she  walked  away. 

"Here  are  the  poems  you  requested  me  to 
obtain  for  you,"  said  Mr.  Fielding,  as  he 
handed  Lucette  a  neatly  tied  square  parcel. 

"Oh,   thanks,"   joyfully  exclaimed   Lucette. 

"I  will  leave  you  now,  so  you  can  look  over 

your  morning  correspondence.     Be  ready  in' 

time    for   our   gallop   before   luncheon.     The 

15 


groom  informed  me  that  'Snow'  was  in  ex 
cellent  trim.  Bye-bye,"  she  laughingly  cried, 
kissing  the  tips  of  her  fingers  lightly  to  Mr. 
Fielding,  as  she  gracefully  made  her  exit  from 
the  room. 

"How  Lucette  does  love  a  gallop,  bless  her 
dear  little  heart."  Tapping  a  silver  filigree 
bell,  which  stood  on  the  massive  mahogany 
table,  Jute  speedily  answered  the  summons. 

"Well,  massa,"  she  drawled  out,  arranging 
a  conspicuous  yellow  ribbon  bow  which 
rested  on  the  top  of  her  frowsy  head. 

"Bring  me  some  claret  and  ice,  Jute," 
quietly  requested  Mr.  Fielding.  Looking  up, 
he  perceived  Jute  standing  still.  "Well,  why 
don't  you  go?"  he  softly  inquired.  Jute  hesi 
tated  a  moment,  then  slowly  replied : 

'  'Kase  I'se  want  to  speak  to  yo',  massa. 
Dis  chile's  white  heart  be  jist  nigh  broke  to 
smash,"  she  said,  stamping  her  little  foot. 

"That  is  terrible,"  Mr.  Fielding  smilingly 
exclaimed.  "I'll — " 

"Nebber  mind,"  interrupted  Jute.  "Doan 
yo'  git  escited,  massa.  Keep  yo'  temper,  'n 
I'se  tell  yo'  all  'bout  it.  Well,"  she  ejacu 
lated,  "dat  dar  red- 'aired  debbil,  Larry  Leigh, 
tole  de  groom  if  he  cotched  dis  yer  nigger 
'roun'  dem  dar  stables  agin  to  tie  dis  yer 
16 


nigger  on  'Snow's'  back  'n  dat  would  be  de 
las'  seen  ob  a  cloud,"  she  sobbingly  cried. 

''Don't  cry,  Jute,"  said  Mr.  Fielding,  kindly 
patting  her  kinky  black  hair.  "There  shall  be 
no  necessity  for  such  an  undertaking.  Be  a 
good  little  girl — now  run  along." 

"Massa,"  impressively  exclaimed  Jute, 
stamping  her  foot  and  striking  a  defiant  at 
titude,  "jist  let  dat  dar  red-'aired  debbil  scar 
dis  white  heart  agin'  'n  Fse  not  be  'sponsible 
fo'  any  Irish  claret  dat  may  be  flyin'  true  de 
air.  'N  say,  Massa  Feelin',"  she  continued, 
slowly  turning  up  the  sleeve  of  her  dress  and 
closely  examining  her  muscle,  "Fse  jist  like 
to  git  a  few  pointers  from  dat  dar  boxin' 
master,  I  would,"  said  Jute,  emphatically,  as 
she  sauntered  in  her  usual  slow  gait  from  the 
room. 

"Poor  child,"  thought  Mr.  Fielding,  ad 
justing  his  glasses.  "Leigh  and  Jute  seem 
to  be  always  in  trouble."  Then  reaching  over 
and  picking  up  one  of  the  letters  that  lay  on 
the  table,  he  opened  it  and  read  the  fol 
lowing  : 

NEVADA,  October  — . 
MR.  FIELDING, 

DEAR    SIR:     Your    immediate    attention    is 
required   to   settle   a   dispute   arising  between 
17 


the  parries  who  have  taken  up  the  claim  ad- 
joini.ig  the  Lucette  Mine.  They  dispute  th,* 
water  right. 

Please  forward  the  necessary  papers  at 
your  earliest  convenience  to  avoid  further 
trouble,  and  oblige, 

Yours  sincerely, 

CLAUDE  GIRRADE. 


"This  is  extremely  annoying,"  thought  Mr. 
Fielding,  a  frown  contracting  his  brow,  as  he 
tossed  the  letter  on  the  table.  "I  shall  have 
to  attend  to  this  matter  in  person,  as 
Lucette's  interests  are  at  stake.  There  is  not 
a  moment  to  be  lost."  Then  picking  up  the 
second  letter  from  the  table,  he  keenly  scru 
tinized  it.  A  smile  lit  up  his  face,  as  he 
broke  the  seal,  knowing  full  well  that  the 
letter  was  from  his  son,  Lieutenant  Fielding. 
An  inclosure  for  Lucette  he  carefully  tucked 
away  into  his  coat  pocket,  then  he  eagerly 
perused  the  contents  of  his  boy's  epistle. 

DEAR  FATHER  :  I  have  asked  for  a  leave  of 
absence,  which  has  been  granted.  Expect  me 
home  in  a  few  days.  I  am  enjoying  tip  top 
heaith. 


18 


Love  to  all,  and  a  kiss  for  Lucette. 

Your  affectionate  son, 

BERT. 

P.  S. — Roderick  De  Monte  will  accompany 
me  home.  I  have  invited  him  to  be  your 
guest.  B. 

"I  am  sorry,"  thought  Mr.  Fielding,  shak 
ing  his  head,  as  he  closed  his  letter.  "Sorry 
Roderick  De  Monte  will  pay  us  this  visit — 
on  account  of  Lucette,  whom  I  have  this  day 
learned  dislikes  my  boy's  friend.  Well,  I 
shall  ask  Lucette  to  try  to  treat  De  Monte 
courteously  if  only  for  the  lieutenant's  sake." 

Mr.  Fielding's  soliloquy  was  cut  short  by  a- 
voice  outside,  which  was  no  other  than  Jute's 
calling:  "Jist  yo'  try  dat  agin,  after  I've 
sarved  massa."  Jute  slowly  opened  the  door 
from  whence  her  voice  proceeded.  With 
measured  strides  she  endeavored  to  carry  a 
heavily  ladened  tray  with  extreme  caution. 
She  tripped  suddenly,  however,  and  through 
a  frantic  effort,  saved  the  glasses  and  bever 
age  from  coming  in  contact  with  the  carpet. 
"Good  Lordy !"  she  exclaimed,  frightened 
to  death,  as  she  sat  the  tray  upon  the  table. 
"Heah  be  de  claret,  massa.  Do  yo'  want 
much  or  mucher?"  she  graciously  asked,  as 
she  proceeded  to  pour  out  the  wine. 
19 


"You  should  say,  'Is  that  sufficient?'"  im 
patiently  declared  Mr.  Fielding.  Jute  misun 
derstanding  him,  answered  quickly:  "Some 
fish  in  it?  Golly!  Dis  yer  nigger  will  git  a 
'hole  string  ob  dem  from  de  cook  in  a  jiffy." 
Wheeling  about  quickly,  she  started  to  go. 

"No,  no!  Come  here,"  said  Mr.  Fielding, 
calling  her  back.  "I  didn't  say  fish  in  it,  I 
said  sufficient,  meaning  it's  enough,"  said  he 
with  marked  emphasis. 

"Oh!  Dar  snuff  yo'  want?"  said  Jute, 
running  to  a  side  table,  where  she  took  up  a 
box  of  snuff.  Before  Mr.  Fielding  could  pre 
vent  her,  she  offered  it  to  him,  but  accidently 
stumbled  and  fell,  spilling  it,  consequently 
inhaling  some  of  the  contents  which  imme 
diately  brought  on  a  fit  of  sneezing,  and 
between  intervals  had  she  yet  the  courage  to 
pass  the  box  to  Mr.  Fielding,  saying:  "Heah 
am  de  sneezer,  massa.  Dar  be  one  volley  left 
yit." 

"Tut,  tut !"  said  Mr.  Fielding,  rising,  and 
endeavoring  to  wipe  Jute's  eyes  with  his 
handkerchief.  "Here,  child,  wipe  your  eyes, 
and  try  and  be  a  little  more  careful,"  said 
he,  handing  Jute  a  silk  handkerchief,  which 
he  took  from  his  pocket.  "Tell  Lucette, 
Jute,"  said  Mr.  Fielding,  pouring  out  a  glass 
20 


of  wine  and  drinking  it,  "that  I  will  be  back 
here  presently.  To  await  me."  He  then 
left  the  room.  Hardly  had  the  door  closed 
upon  him  when  Jute  curled  herself  up  in  a 
large  easy  chair,  exclaiming  aloud : 

"Well,  I  declar'  to  goodness.  De  idea  ob 
Massa  Feelin'  tryin'  to  umpress  'Webster' 
on  dis  heah  chile's  cranium.  Nuffin'  could 
make  'n  umpression  on  dis  heah  nigger — " 

"But  a  piece  of  white  chalk,"  chuckled 
Larry  Leigh,  Jute's  bugbear,  who,  during  her 
speech  advanced  quietly  behind  her  chair. 
Jute  immediately  jumped  up  and  confronting 
him.  cried:  "Go  'long  wid  yo'selb,  yo'  red- 
'aired  linnet,"  after  which  she  flauntingly 
turned  her  back  on  him. 

"That's  right,"  said  Leigh,  placing  a  bou 
quet  on  the  table.  Then  continuing  with  an 
amused  smile,  he  said,  looking  pertly  at  Jute; 
"Call  me  a  birdie — anything  you  like — from 
a  red-headed  linnet  to  a  bird  of  prey." 

Jute  glared  indignantly  at  him ;  then  shak 
ing  her  chubby  little  black  fist,  cried:  "Yo'll 
pray  when  I'se  tell  Missy  Lucette  how  yo' 
allus  scar  me,"  she  stopped  suddenly,  as  she 
perceived  Leigh  making  a  grimace  at  her. 
L'tterly  exasperated,  she  rushed  toward  him, 
shaking  her  apron  in  his  face.  "Shoo!  shoo!" 
21 


she  cried.  "Yo'  menagerie  ob  birds,  wid  yo' 
firy  head  'n  yo'  round  pie-face."  Leigh 
laughingly  replied,  as  he  placed  his  hands 
upon  his  hips: 

"May  I  ask  you,  'Darkness,'  what  kind  of 
a  conglomeration  that  may  be?" 

"  Yo'  be  a  gooseberry.  Yo'  natur  1  color, 
'kase  yo'  so  green,"  saucily  replied  Jute,  who 
by  that  time  reached  the  door  leading  out  to 
the  veranda. 

"O !  ho !"  said  Leigh,  following  her  up. 
"You  remind  me  of  a  huckleberry.  You're  so 
black." 

In  Leigh's  endeavor  to  see  and  have  the 
last  word  with  Jute,  his  face  came  in  such 
close  proximity  with  the  door  that  she  was 
about  to  bang,  that  he  received  the  full  shock 
of  Jute's  wrath  upon  his  cheek.  Hardly  had 
he  recovered  from  the  blow,  when  Jute 
poked  her  little  frowsy  head  from  behind  the 
half-open  door  and  cried  out:  "Yo'  seen 
dem  stars  and  stripes  dat  time,  I  bet."  She 
banged  the  door  quickly  again  and  scampered 
through  the  hall. 


22 


CHAPTER  III. 

A     TRUE     FRIEND 

"Well,  if  that  little  bag  of  soot  isn't  the 
devil,"  murmured  Leigh.  Just  at  that  mo 
ment  Lucette  entered  the  living  room.  She 
was  strikingly  beautiful,  as  she  stood  there 
attired  in  a  riding  habit  of  dark  green  velvet, 
and  wearing  a  plumed  hat  which  contrasted 
well  with  her  azure  eyes  and  golden  curls. 

"What  a  lovely  morning  you  will  have 
for  your  gallop,  Miss  Lucette,"  said  Leigh, 
bowing.  "The  groom  informed  me  that  the 
horses  are  saddled  and  waiting." 

"I  am  quite  ready,  but  await  Mr.  Fielding," 
returned  Lucette,  buttoning  her  gloves. 

Taking  the  bouquet  from  off  the  table  and 
presenting  it  to  Lucette,  Leigh  smilingly  said : 
"I  hope  you  have  not  forgotten  the  rosebuds  I 
plucked  for  you  a  while  ago." 

"Thanks.  You  did  not  give  them  to  Adele, 
I  see,"  said  Lucette,  taking  the  buds  and  ar 
ranging  them  on  her  riding  habit. 

"Give  them  to  her?"  replied  Leigh,  in  a 
surprised  voice.  "I'd  bestow  them  on  Jute 
23 


first,  for  her  to  deck  her  bonny  black  wool. 
That  I  would." 

"Hush,  hush!"  said  Lucette,  raising  her 
shapely  gloved  hand.  "If  Jute  were  to  hear 
you  speak  of  her  in  such  a  manner — " 

''Faith,"  said  Leigh,  interrupting  her.  "It's 
the  manner  she  would  well  appreciate.  If 
the  truth  were  told,  Jute  can  flit  back  about 
as  good  a  compliment  as  she  receives." 

"Come,  Leigh,"  coaxingly  asked  Lucette. 
''Tell  me  why  you  will  not  be  friends  with 
Adele?" 

"Our  opinions  slightly  differ.  For  instance, 
she  may  fancy  that  posies  look  well  on  her 
charming  person,  while  I  maintain  that  they 
look  far  better  upon  the  bush,"  said  Leigh, 
looking  up  at  Lucette. 

Lucette  shook  her  pretty  head  and  then 
slowly  said:  "That's  not  a  very  satisfactory 
answer.  Come,  Leigh,  tell  me  the  truth." 

Leigh  tapped  his  foot  impatiently,  bit  his 
lip,  and  then  said :  "Very  well,  Miss  Lucette. 
You  shall  hear  the  truth.  One  morning  dur 
ing  Lieutenant  Fielding's  last  home  vacation 
I  happened  to  be  strolling  through  the  garden. 
My  attention  was  immediately  arrested  by 
Adele  Thorn's  voice,  as  she  uttered  these 
words :  'Lieutenant  Fielding  loves  Lucette 
24 


Westly  simply  because  she  happens  to  be  an 
heiress.'  Her  companion,  no  other  than  Rod 
erick  De  Monte,  replied:  'Yes,  indeed,  an 
heirness  to  a  mine  that  is  expected  to  yield 
untold  wealth  is  a  great  catch,  and  I  doubt 
whether  Lieutenant  Fielding  will  let  such  a 
prize  slip  through  his  grasp.'  " 

"Is  it  possible?"  answered  Lucette.  "You 
can  now  understand,"  continued  Leigh,  "why 
it  is  impossible  for  your  governess,  Adele 
Thorn,  and  I  to  be  friends." 

A  frown  quickly  darkened  Lucette's  cheer 
ful  face,  as  she  slowly  remarked :  "Do  you 
know,  Leigh,  I  have  always  mistrusted 
Roderick  De  Monte  and  can  hardly  believe 
the  story  that  he  once  risked  his  own  life  to 
save  Lieutenant  Fielding  from  a  watery 
grave." 

"Miss  Lucette,"  said  Leigh,  solemnly  taking 
her  hand.  "I  have  your  sincere  welfare  at 
heart.  Now  rest  assured  if  Lieutenant 
Fielding  loves  you,  it  is  for  your  own  sweet 
self  alone.  He  is  both  noble  and  loyal.  God 
bless  you  both,  as  I  know  your  little  heart 
is  given — " 

"Hush,  Leigh!"  said  Lucette,  suddenly  in 
terrupting  him,  as  a  crimson  blush  overspread 
her  lovely  shell-tinted  face.  "Not  another 
25 


word,  as  Aclele  is  very  good  of  late  and 
Roderick  De  Monte  not  at  all  likely  to  trou 
ble  us  with  his  presence  here  again,  promise 
me  one  thing.  Allow  all  unpleasant  feeling 
to  pass,  won't  you?" 

"I  promise  you,  Miss  Lucette,"  said  he 
aloud ;  but  in  his  heart  he  took  a  solemn  vow 
never  to  trust  either  of  them. 

Lucette  immediately  extended  her  shapely 
hand  to  Leigh,  saying:  "I  am  so  glad  that 
you  have  made  me  this  promise.  Thanks, 
Leigh,  a  thousand  thanks." 

"A  thousand  thanks?  Why  such  a  profu 
sion  of  them?"  asked  Mr.  Fielding,  entering 
the  room.  He  was  nattily  attired  in  a  stun 
ning  riding  costume  and  happened  to  over 
hear  Lucette's  concluding  remark. 

"Does  he  not  deserve  them,  Papa 
Fielding?"  she  asked,  nodding  her  head  to 
ward  Leigh.  "Look,"  she  smilingly  ex 
claimed,  as  she  drew  Mr.  Fielding's  attention 
to  the  rosebuds  pinned  on  her  dress. 

A  luminous  smile  lit  up  Mr.  Fielding's 
cheerful  face,  as  he  said:  "If  the  horses  are 
ready  we  had  better  start.  Come,  Lucette. 
Oh!  before  I  forget,"  continued  he,  turning 
to  Leigh.  "Please  have  those  letters  ready 
for  the  mail,  Leigh." 

26 


"Very  well,  sir,"  answered  Leigh,  bowing. 

"Now  let's  be  off,"  commanded  Mr. 
Fielding,  hurriedly. 

"Remember,"  cautioned  Lucette  softly  to 
Leigh,  as  Mr.  Fielding  and  she  passed  out  on 
the  veranda. 

"How  my  heart  goes  out  to  that  child," 
soliloquized  Leigh,  gazing  after  Lucette.  "In 
memory  of  her  deceased  father,  Colonel 
Westly,  my  old  friend,  I  would  lose  my  life 
to  shield  her  from  a  single  pain,"  then  sigh 
ing  he  left  the  room. 


27 


CHAPTER  IV. 
ADELE' s  STRATEGY 

"Golly,  it  am  hot!"  exclaimed  Jute,  as  she 
entered  the  cool  living  room,  carrying  a  tray 
of  dishes,  which  she  dexterously  proceeded 
to  arrange  on  the  table.  'Tse  jist  surprise 
Missy  and  Massa  Feelin',  'n  sarve  de  lunchen 
'rite  heah." 

The  door  opened  noiselessly  and  Adele, 
attired  in  a  dark  gray  dress  of  soft  cashmere, 
which  clung  to  her  symmetrical  form  in 
graceful  folds,  its  somber  color  relieved  by 
spotless  embroidered  collar  and  cuffs,  glided 
quietly  into  the  room.  She  carried  a  small 
work  basket  on  her  arm.  Seating  herself 
near  an  open  window,  she  began  to  crochet. 

"Gracious,  Missy  Adele,"  ejaculated  Jute, 
looking  out  of  the  window  and  nearly  upset 
ting  Adele's  workbasket  in  an  endeavor  to  get 
a  breath  of  fresh  air.  "Dem  horses  worry 
de  lif  out  ob  dis  yer  chile,  but  I'se  gess  Miss 
Lucette's  hoss  Snowy's  all  rite,  'kase  she  ain't 
a  bit  spit'ful." 

"I  rather  think  she  resembles  her  mistress 
in  that  respect,"  answered  Adele  sarcastically, 
28 


as  she  removed  the  workbasket  to  safer 
quarters. 

"Ain't  Missy  Lucette  'n  angel?"  said  Jute, 
drawing  a  footstool  near  Adele.  Then  sit 
ting  down  with  a  bump,  she  clasped  her 
chubby  black  hands  over  her  breast  and  con 
tinued,  saying:  "Fse  jist  lub  Missy  Lucette." 

"And,"  answered  Adele,  under  her  breath, 
"I  hate  her."  Then  looking  up  at  Jute,  she 
cautioned :  "Remember,  always  to  obey  your 
mistress  as  I  do,"  aside  "not." 

"Yes,  Missy  Adele,  but  sometimes  yo'  for- 
git  to  do  what  Missy  Lucette  ax'  ob  yo'.  Fse 
nebber  forgit  eny  ting  she  ax'  ob  me  to  do 
'cept  to  bridle  ma  tongue,  'n'  I'se  kan't  eb'n 
bridle  a  hoss — 'n'  bosses  are  easi'r  bridl'd  than 
tongues." 

"What  makes  you  think,"  asked  Adele,  ve 
hemently,  "that  I  forget  to  do  what  your 
mistress  requests  of  me?" 

"  'Kase,"  replied  Jute,  frowning  and  puck 
ering  up  her  thick  little  red  lips,  "I'se  heah 
Missy  Lucette  'quest  yo'  to  do  somethin'  wid 
dese  yer  ears  'n  I'se  see  yo'  doan  do  it  wid 
dese  yer  peepers,"  pointing  to  her  eyes. 

"Bosh !"  sharply  said  Adele,  "you  are  mis 
taken." 

"Doan  yo'  reckermember,"  continued  Jute, 
29 


shaking  her  head  solemnly,  "when  Missy 
Lucette  wanted  her  white  lace  dress  to  wear 
on  one  certain  'kasion,  yo'  nebber  tole  de 
maid  to  hab  it  ready  in  time.  Yo'  forgit." 

Adele  looking  up,  softly  replied,  "So  I  did." 
Then  under  her  breath  she  continued :  "I  did 
not  forget  that  she  would  look  overhandsome 
in  that  same  dress." 

"Dar  yo'  see,  honey,"  said  Jute,  emphati 
cally,  "dis  yer  nigger  am  rite.  Den  'long 
time  ago  when  Massa  Bert  corned  home  on 
his  bacation — 

"Well,  well,"  briefly  interrupted  Adele. 

"Well,  Missy  Lucette  gib  yo'  a  little  present 
to  gib  him  afore  he  be  gwyne  away.  He 
nebber  receibed  it.  You'  forgit,"  continued 
Jute,  earnestly,  looking  at  Adele. 

"You  are  dreaming;  what  present?"  said 
Adele  sneeringly. 

"Oh,  I'se  jist  know  what  Fse  be  talkin' 
'bout,  honey.  I'se  see  de  little  ibory  kase  all 
rite,"  Jute  answered,  in  a  determined  tone 
of  voice. 

"A  white  ivory  case?"  repeated  Adele. 

Jute  sighed,  and  putting  her  hand  under 
her  chin,  said:  "If  it  hed  been  a  black 
ebony  one,  maybe  dis  yer  nigger  wouldn't  hab 


30 


paid  eny  'tention  to  it.  I'se  jist  hate  black 
objects." 

"So  do  I,"  ejaculated  Adele,  giving  Jute  a 
withering  glance,  then  she  continued  quickly, 
saying:  "Oh,  I  guess  Lieutenant  Fielding 
received  the  ivory  case  all  right." 

"I  say  he  nebber  did,"  saucily  replied  Jute. 
"I  say,  yo'  forgit." 

"Little  viper,"  hissed  Adele,  her  eyes  flash 
ing  with  suppressed  anger,  "prove  your  asser 
tion." 

"I'se  will,  honey.  'Kase  I'se  picked  it  up 
at  de  bottom  ob  de  ravine.  I'se  guess  it 
must  hab  been  full  ob  water  when  yo'  lost  it 
dar.  It  be  so  dirty  dis  chile  didn't  recker- 
member  it  'mediately,  till  I'se  forced  it  open 
'n  seed  Missy  Lucette's  face  smilin'  at  dis  yer 
chile." 

Adele  in  a  state  of  mental  perplexity  hesi 
tatingly  said :  "I  do  recollect  of  Lucette 
asking  me  to  give  to  Lieutenant  Fielding  as  a 
parting  gift  the  miniature  you  have  reference 
to.  She  being  timid  concerning  the  affair. 
Unfortunately  I  lost  it  the  very  evening  he 
was  to  return  to  his  regiment.  Knowing 
how  badly  Lucette  would  feel  should  the  lieu 
tenant  not  receive  her  gift,  I  searched  every 
where  for  the  lost  miniature,  but  in  vain. 
31 


Therefore  I  resolved  not  to  mention  the  in 
cident.  Lucette  luckily  took  it  for  granted 
that  he  had  the  miniature  safe  in  his  pos 
session,  so  that  settled  the  matter.  Now  you 
come  to  my  rescue." 

Jute  glanced  keenly  at  Adele  and  then 
asked,  in  an  inquiring  tone :  "Ain't  it  a  little 
too  late,  missy?" 

"Oh,  no,"  returned  Adele  sweetly,  "return 
the  miniature,  and  I  will  have  it  retaken  and 
forward  it  to  Lieutenant  Fielding,  just  as 
soon  as  possible." 

"Dis  chile  was  gwyne  to  do  dat  herselb 
when  I'se  could  count  up  'nuff  nickels," 
pointedly  said  Jute,  going  toward  the  table. 

"Come,  Jute,  let  us  seal  our  bargain,"  said 
Adele  rising.  "Return  the  miniature;  say 
nothing  about  the  affair  and  you'll  receive  a 
new  dress  from  me  and  a  dozen  nickels." 

"Nebber  mind  'bout  de  finery,  missy.  Dis 
yer  chile  will  git  yo'  de  pictur'  to  send  to 
Massa  Bert,  only  doan  yo'  forgit." 

Just  at  that  moment  the  clatter  of  horses' 
hoofs  was  heard  on  the  driveway.  Adele 
arose,  crossed  the  room  and  looking  out  of 
the  window  exclaimed :  "Here  comes  Lucette 
and  Mr.  Fielding  returning  from  their  ride!" 

Jute  ran  to  the  window,  peered  anxiously 
32 


out  and  excitedly  cried:  "Oh,  Lordy!  Yes. 
I  must  run  now  and  hab  de  cook  serve  de 
lunchen  'mediately."  Then  suiting  the  action 
to  her  words,  she  scampered  from  the  room. 
"Great  heaven !"  exclaimed  Adele,  clutching 
the  table,  until  the  veins  in  her  hands  stood 
out  like  whipcords,  "what  an  escape !  I  won 
der  if  that  little  black  wretch  will  hold  her 
tongue?  How  I  detest  Lucette  Westly.  Poor 
simpleton !"  she  hysterically  cried.  "The  idea 
of  giving  me  her  miniature  to  present  to 
him."  she  "cried,  clasping  her  hands  to  her 
breast.  "Him,  whom  /  love.  Never  shall  he 
receive  it.  During  the  past  year  he  has  prob 
ably  forgotten  all  about  her;  and  before  hi 
shall  see  her  again  I  shall  do  all  in  my  power 
to  make  her  forget  him." 


33 


CHAPTER  V. 

PREPARING    FOR    THE    VISITORS 

A  merry  peal  of  laughter  rang  out  upon 
the  air,  as  Jute  cautiously  entered  the  room. 
She  carried  a  tray  of  tempting  viands,  which 
she  placed  to  the  best  of  her  ability  upon  the 
table,  barely  escaping  knocking  over  Lucette's 
cut-glass  rose-bowl,  in  her  endeavor  to  over 
reach  herself. 

"Gracious !  I  wonder  what  would  happen 
if  Fse  jist  done  dat,"  she  breathlessly  ex 
claimed,  as  she  realized  the  impending  catas 
trophe,  which  she  barely  escaped.  "And  won't 
Missy  Lucette  be  su'prised  to  hab  de  lunchen 
sarved  here,"  she  said,  as  she  placed  three 
chairs  around  the  table.  "Fse  jist  picked  de 
whitest  posies  Fse  could  find  in  de  garden  for 
Missy  Lucette,"  she  said  aloud,  arranging 
them  in  the  rose-bowl  and  placing  them  in 
the  center  of  the  table.  "There,"  she  con 
tinued,  "they  look  jist  beau'ful,"  giving  them 
a  finishing  touch. 

"Well,  home  at  last,"  cried  Lucette,  dash 
ing  into  the  room,  looking  radiantly  beautiful 
34 


trom  the  effect  of  her  morning  ride.  She  was 
followed  by  Mr.  Fielding. 

"Here,  child,"  she  said,  removing  and  toss 
ing  her  riding  hat  and  gloves  to  Jute.  "Now 
don't  put  them  where  some  one  will  be  sure 
to  sit  on  them." 

Jute  taking  Lucette's  hat  and  gloves, 
eagerly  said:  "Gess  yo'  folks  be  'bout  starved. 
Eberyting  am  ready,  missy."  Turning  around 
on  her  way  to  the  door,  she  accidently 
dropped  Lucette's  hat,  stumbling  over  it. 
Quickly  picking  it  up,  she  vanished  through 
the  doorway,  dropping  one  glove  in  her  hurry 
on  the  floor,  much  to  the  dismay  of  Lucette. 

"Well,"  laughingly  cried  Mr.  Fielding. 
"Jute  didn't  give  one  a  chance  to  sit  on  your 
hat;  she  just  walked  on  it,"  said  he,  advanc 
ing  toward  the  table. 

"Come  and  join  us,  Adele,"  cried  Lucette, 
seating  herself.  "I'm  almost  famished,"  she 
continued,  pointing  to  a  chair.  "The  seat  of 
honor,  Adele,  sit  down.  How  very  thought 
ful  of  Jute  to  arrange  our  luncheon  here." 

"Oh,  yes,"  responded  Adele,  as  she  started 
to  partake  of  her  salad. 

"By  the  way,"  cheerily  cried  Mr.  Fielding, 
and  at  the  same  time  producing  a  letter  from 
his  coat  pocket.  "I  received  news  in  regard 
35 


to  your  mine,  and  shall  be  obliged  to  take  a 
business  trip  in  a  few  days  as  far  as  the 
summit." 

"My  appetite  is  now  appeased,"  said 
Lucette,  laying  down  her  fork,  "now  that  my 
curiosity  is  excited." 

"Cannot  some  one  else  attend  to  this  mat 
ter?"  she  anxiously  inquired  of  Mr.  Fielding. 

"It  is  hardly  possible,  Lucette,"  he  thought 
fully  answered.  Then,  passing  an  envelope  to 
her  said:  "This  may  interest  you." 

Lucette,  glancing  at  the  handwriting, 
eagerly  exclaimed:  "A  letter  from  Lieutenant 
Fielding!" 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Fielding.  "Bert  has 
been  granted  a  leave  of  absence  and  is  about 
to  pay  us  a  visit." 

"Lieutenant  Fielding  coming  home,"  mur 
mured  Adele,  in  a  hushed  voice  and  at  the 
same  time  turning  deathly  pale. 

Lucette  looked  at  Mr.  Fielding,  and  anx 
iously  asked:  "Why  didn't  you  tell  me  im 
mediately  of  Lieutenant  Fielding's  expected 
arrival?  Why  did  you  keep  it  such  a  secret? 
Surely  you  received  the  letter  this  morning. 
Won't  I  be  delighted  to  see  him?"  she  con 
tinued,  her  lovely  countenance  beaming  with 
sudden  joy.  Impulsively  rising,  she  eagerly 
36 


embraced  Adele,  exclaiming:  "Oh,  what  glor 
ious  good  times  we'll  have  now !  What  jolly 
good  times !  Won't  we,  Adele  ?"  she  cried, 
giving  Adele  a  little  hug. 

''Oh,  yes,"  answered  Adele  placidly.  "I 
have  not  the  least  doubt  of  it."  She  sud 
denly  turned,  crossed  the  room  and  seated 
herself  comfortably  in  a  low  rocker,  then 
reaching  for  her  work  basket,  she  was  soon 
busily  engaged  with  its  contents,  patiently 
endeavoring  to  disentangle  a  ball  of  worsted. 

Lucette  lost  no  time  in  perusing  the  con 
tents  of  her  letter,  which  ran  as  follows : 

DEAR  LUCETTE:  I  am  coming  home  and 
expect  to  see  my  little  sweetheart  very  soon. 

How  is  Adele?  Jolly  as  ever?  She  may 
be  pleased  to  learn  that  Roderick  De  Monte 
will  accompany  me  home.  Plan  plenty  of 
amusement  for  us,  as  we  anticipate  a  good 
time. 

Goodby  little  sweetheart,  until  we  meet, 
Yours  devotedly, 

BERT. 

"Pleasant  news?"  asked  Mr.  Fielding,  as  he 
perceived  Lucette  folding  up  her  letter. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  she  answered  quickly,  then 
with  a  perplexed  frown  continued  by  asking 
Mr.  Fielding  if  he  were  awrare  that  Roderick 
37 

2865284 


De    Monte    would    be    likely    to    accompany 
Lieutenant  Fielding  home. 

"So  I  learned  from  Bert's  postcript,"  re 
plied  Mr.  Fielding,  after  a  moment  of  hesi 
tation.  "Now,  ladies,  you  must  try  and 
make  this  contemplated  visit  pleasant  for  the 
gentlemen.  A  friend  of  Lieutenant  Fielding's 
we  must  always  treat  most  courteously,"  said 
he  pointedly,  glancing  at  Lucette. 

"De  Monte  coming  here?  Fate  favors  me," 
thought  Adele,  a  cruel  gleam  of  cunning 
flashing  from  her  eyes. 

"Now  our  guests  being  due  so  soon,"  re 
marked  Lucette,  "I  shall  give  orders  for  im 
mediate  preparations.  There  is  not  a  moment 
to  be  lost." 

Mr.  Fielding,  seating  himself,  said  to 
Adele:  "You  must  lend  your  kind  assistance 
to  Lucette  to  complete  the  necessary  arrange 
ments." 

"Certainly,"  responded  Adele,  as  she  gath 
ered  up  her  work.  "I  will — to  the  best  of 
my  ability,  sir." 

"Come,  let  us  hurry,  Adele,"  coaxingly 
said  Lucette,  as  she  encircled  Adele's  waist 
and  led  her  toward  the  door.  "I'm  so  anx 
ious  to  begin,  Adele,"  she  excitedly  cried. 
They  left  the  room  together. 
38 


CHAPTER  VI. 
LUCETTE'S  REQUEST 

"Lticette  does  not  like  the  idea  of  Roderick 
De  Monte  coming  here,"  thought  Mr. 
Fielding,  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  easy  chair. 
"I  wonder  if  Adele  is  not  the  real  object  of 
his  visit  here.  Well,  time  will  tell." 

He  picked  up  a  book  that  was  lying  upon 
the  table  and  was  just  about  to  open  it,  when 
Jute  rushed  into  the  room  almost  scared  to 
death.  Her  dress  was  all  besmeared  with 
flour.  Her  face  likewise.  She  held  a  rolling 
pin  in  her  chubby  black  hand.  Throwing  her 
self  down  at  Mr.  Fielding's  feet  and  at  the 
same  time  putting  one  flour  daubed  hand  upon 
his  knees,  she  tearfully  cried : 

"Oh,  good  Lordy,  massa !  De  end  ob  de 
world  am  comin' — 'dis  poor  chile  be  a  sinner." 

Mr.  Fielding,  stooping  over,  helped  Jute  to 
rise.  He  then  drew  a  silk  handkerchief  from 
his  inner  coat  pocket,  and  proceeded  to  dust 
the  flour  from  off  his  doeskin  trousers,  and 
exclaimed,  in  a  surprised  voice :  "What  on 
earth  ails  you  now,  Jute?" 

Jute,  apparently  very  much  frightened,  sob- 
39 


bingly  cried  out:  "Fse  been  down  in  de 
kitchen  helpitr  de  cook  agin  Massa  Bert's 
'rival,  when  Fse  chance  to  look  up  at  de  win 
dow  'n  I  seed  a  pair  ob  terble  eyes  fasten'd 
on  dis  yer  chile.  I'se  jist  hollor'd  myselb  into 
hysterics  'n  de  cook  tole  me  if  Fse  didn't 
stop  dat  'fernal  yellin'  (boo-hoo),  dat  she 
would  make  dis  nicnac  (displaying  the  rolling 
pin)  'quainted  wid  ma  coconut,"  simpered 
Jute,  rubbing  her  frowsy  black  head. 

"Imagination,"  irritably  ejaculated  Mr. 
Fielding,  looking  at  Jute,  and  shaking  his 
head. 

"  'Magination,  nothin,'  massa ;  I'se  did  see 
two  terble  eyes,  sure  as  yo'  born,  and  Leigh 
yelled  fo'  me  to  sprint,  'kase  he  said  dat  gypsy 
corned  to  cotch  dis  nigger,  'kase  I'se  pester 
de  lib  ob  all  de  white  folks  (boo-hoo).  I'se 
fear'd,  massa,  dat  dat  dar  terible  gypsy  gwyne 
to  grab  dis  dark  chile,  so  I'se  wish,  Massa 
Feelin',  yo'  would  send  her  'bout  her  bis- 
ness,"  then  timidly  looking  around,  she 
wielded  the  rolling  pin  above  her  head,  as  if 
to  strike  an  imaginary  foe. 

"I  mistrust  those  vagrants,"  said  Mr. 
Fielding,  apparently  annoyed.  Tapping  the 
bell,  a  servant  appeared. 

"Jute  has  just  informed  me  that  there  is  a 
40 


gypsy  woman  lurking  about  the  house,  if  so, 
conduct  her  hither,"  said  he,  in  a  command 
ing  voice. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  answered  the  servant,  tak 
ing  his  departure. 

"Oh,  massa,  massa,"  cried  Jute,  despair 
ingly,  clasping  her  hands  and  clinging  to  Mr. 
Fielding.  "I'se  don't  want  to  see  dat  wicked 
face  agin.  Surely  she  be  posess'd  ob  de 
debbil." 

A  slight  smile  flitted  over  Mr.  Fielding's 
genial  face,  as  he  took  Jute  by  the  hand,  and 
conducted  her  to  the  door  of  an  inner  room, 
cautioning  her  to  remain  there  until  he  dis 
missed  the  gypsy. 

"All  rite,  massa,"  replied  Jute,  in  a  hoarse 
tone  of  voice,  trembling  with  fright.  "Gess 
Fse  say  ma  pray'rs,  too.  'Kase  she  might 
fotch  de  debbil  'long  wid  her." 

Hardly  had  the  door  closed  upon  Jute 
when  the  servant  appeared  and  ushered  in 
Esperanza,  the  gypsy  girl. 

Silently  she  stood  a  magnificent  specimen 
of  nature's  womanly  beauty.  Her  dress — a 
dark  maroon  skirt,  relieved  by  an  ivory  col 
ored  blouse,  which  displayed  to  good  advan 
tage  her  beautifully  moulded  breast  and  arms. 
Looped  from  one  shoulder  and  carelessly 
41 


crossed  hung  a  scarlet  shawl,  the  color  of 
which  certainly  enhanced  the  beautiful  du^ky 
face.  Her  glorious  eyes,  as  Jute,  terrified, 
tried  to  explain,  held  one  spellbound.  They 
were  magnetic,  large  and  lustrous,  yet  seem 
ingly  penetrated  through  one.  Her  hair  was 
inky  black  and  braided  carelessly  in  one  heavy 
strand.  A  string  of  pebbles  adorned  her 
throat. 

"Approach,  woman,"  commandingly  or 
dered  Mr.  Fielding,  with  a  majestic  sweep  of 
his  arm. 

Esperanza  eagerly  advanced  toward  him 
and  extending  her  shapely  brown  hand,  said: 
"Kind  sir,  so — I  may  read  your  future?" 

"I  did  not  send  for  you  to  read  my  future," 
returned  Mr.  Fielding,  sternly.  "I  do  not 
believe  in  such  nonsense.  I  simply  want  to 
warn  you  NEVER  to  cross  our  threshold 
again.  Go  now,"  continued  he,  pointing  to 
ward  the  door,  "and  take  heed  of  my 
warning." 

As  Esperanza  slowly  turned  to  obey, 
Lucette  slowly  entered  the  room  and  inter 
cepted  her  departure.  She  had  changed  her 
riding  habit  and  was  becomingly  clad  in  a 
pale  blue  linen  dress. 

"Stay,  one  moment,"  she  commanded.  Then 
42 


crossing  to  Mr.  Fielding's  side,  she  asked, 
caressingly:  "You  will  not  refuse  me  a  little 
favor  ?" 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  abruptly. 

"Please  allow  the  gypsy  girl  to  tell  you 
your  fortune,"  she  pleaded,  then  animatedly 
exclaimed :  "Allow  her  to  tell  me  mine, 
also?" 

"Lucette,  I  cannot  tolerate  such  nonsense," 
retorted  Mr.  Fielding,  impatiently. 

"Oh,  please  do?"  said  Lucette,  imploringly, 
laying  her  hand  coaxingly  on  his  shoulder. 
''Please  grant  me  this  little  favor.  Won't 
you,  please?" 

"How  can  I  refuse  you?"  assented  Mr. 
Fielding,  stroking  her  curly  head  between  his 
hands  and  looking  tenderly  down  upon  her. 
Kissing  her  lightly  then  upon  the  forehead, 
he  beckoned  to  the  gypsy  girl,  Esperanza. 

"Come,  woman ;  proceed." 

Esperanza  advanced  cautiously  toward  him, 
her  magnetic  eyes  fastened  upon  his  face,  for 
the  moment,  then  questioningly  turning  to 
Lucette,  she  asked :  "Thy  future  shall  the 
gypsy  read,  sweet  lady?" 

"No,  no!"  replied  Lucette,  quickly.  "The 
gentleman's  hand  first,"  she  smilingly  indi 
cated. 

43 


Esperanza  slowly  moved  toward  Mr. 
Fielding.  Taking  his  extended  palm  within 
her  own,  she  said :  "Gentle  sir,  thou  art 
troubled.  A  great  surprise  awaits  thee. 
Clouds  shall  lower  and  life-blood  ebbs  away. 
Tremble,  sir,  for  thou  art  doomed."  She 
hastily  continued  excitedly.  "Behold  I  see — " 

"Enough  woman,"  said  Mr.  Fielding,  an 
noyed,  withdrawing  his  hand.  "Here  is  your 
silver,"  as  he  tossed  her  a  coin.  "I  cannot 
endure  this  foolishness.  Allow  me  to  dismiss 
this  creature,"  he  said,  as  he  partly  turned  to 
Lucette. 

"Lucette,"  hissed  Esperanza,  the  gypsy  girl, 
under  her  breath,  then  slowly  turning  her 
large,  dark,  penetrating  orbs  upon  Lucette, 
she  stood  in  dumb  amazement. 

"Come,"  implored  Lucette,  entreatingly  to 
Mr.  Fielding,  unconscious  of  the  burning  look 
the  gypsy  girl  leveled  at  her.  "I  should  like 
my  palm  read,"  she  entreatingly  said.  "You 
promised  positively.  You — " 

"Very  well,"  interrupted  Mr.  Fielding, 
curtly.  "Have  your  fortune  told  if  you  in 
sist.  I  for  my  part  will  retire,"  said  he, 
gravely,  as  he  opened  the  door,  which  led 
out  of  the  room. 


44 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  GYPSY'S  PROPHECY 

Lucette  shuddered  as  the  sound  of  the 
closed  door  fell  upon  her  ear.  She  glanced, 
nervously,  at  Esperanza,  then  hesitatingly 
said :  "You  may  wait  here.  I'll  be  back 
presently.  I  am  so  nervous,"  she  inaudibly 
acknowledged  to  herself,  "so  I'll  call  Adele," 
then  she  left  the  room,  hurriedly.  Esperanza 
left  alone  gazed  slowly  around  her.  A  wicked 
gleam  overspread  her  classic  features,  as  she 
bitterly  soliloquized:  "So  this  is  her  home. 
She"  (gazing  in  the  direction  Lucette  had 
taken)  "his  daughter,  aye,  little  doth  thou 
suspect,  Roderick  De  Monte,  that  I,  the  gypsy 
girl,  shadows  thy  path.  That  I  have  gazed 
upon  her  at  last  who  bears  the  name  I  heard 
thee  murmur  in  thy  dreams.  Two  years  ago, 
Roderick  De  Monte,  thou  must  have  been  a 
guest  hen*.  Two  years  ago  we  met.  Thou 
swore  that  thou  loved  me.  Thou  betrayed 
me,  and  now  thy  wish  is  to  cast  me  aside. 
Fiend,"  she  hissed,  excitedly,  "so  thou  art 
tired  of  thy  gypsy  love.  Beware,  Roderick 
De  Monte,  much  as  I  love  thee,  I  could  hate 
45 


thec  more,  and  woe  to  her  who  stands  be 
tween  me  and  thee.  Ah,  some  one  comes," 
she  exclaimed  aloud. 

"1  cannot  find  Adele  anywhere,"  said 
Lucette,  nervously,  entering  the  room,  then 
seating  herself  on  a  small  divan,  she  beck 
oned  Esperanza  to  take  a  seat  on  the  footstool 
at  her  feet.  "I  am  ready,"  she  said,  trembling 
and  offering  Esperanza  her  hand.  "Make 
haste — and  tell  me  true." 

Esperanza  being  seated,  inwardly  thought : 
"How  I  hate  to  touch  her  soft  white  hand!" 
Yet  grasping  it,  somewhat  roughly,  she  pro 
ceeded,  saying:  "Lady  thy  life  hath  been  so 
far  a  bed  of  roses,  hiding  the  thorns  which 
therein  nestle,  only  later  to  wound  more 
deeply.  A  sudden  gleam  of  brightness  falls 
to  thy  lot.  A  fair  man — a  desolate  home — " 

"Oh !"  said  Lucette,  shuddering,  a  fright 
ened  look  creeping  into  her  face. 

"Ah,  lady,  shrink  not.  List,  thy  future — 
I  see  it  plainly.  Tis  dark — dark  as  inky 
night.  Thou,"  slowly  shaking  her  head, 
"canst  not  avert  it." 

"Oh,  you — you — tell  me  such  frightful 
things,"  cried  Lucette,  nervously,  withdraw 
ing  her  hand. 

Esperanza,  looking  up  sneeringly,  asked : 
46 


"Art  them  a  coward?  Can'st  thou  not  bear 
the  truth,  sweet  lady?"  She  sarcastically  con 
tinued  :  "I  foretell  only  what  the  lines  in 
your  hands  portray.  See,  a  life  is  in  danger. 
It  is  death,  death — "  hissed  Esperanza,  grasp 
ing  Lucette's  hand  and  riveting  her  burning 
gaze  fiendishly  on  her  pale  face. 

"If  you  persist  in  telling  me  such  dreadful, 
terrible  things,  I  really  cannot  listen  to  them. 
I  shall  die  of  fright,"  said  Lucette,  trembling 
like  a  swaying  bow. 

"Thou  must  listen,  lady,"  cried  Esperanza, 
clutching  Lucette  by  the  arm,  in  an  attempt 
to  drag  her  from  the  divan. 

"Mark !  a  gypsy's  prophecy,"  hissed  she, 
with  a  wild  look  in  her  luminous  eyes,  rais 
ing  her  hand,  she  excitedly  continued :  "There 
shall  be  bloodshed — pools — rivers — crimson  in 
maddening  flow.  I  see  them  now,"  dramati 
cally,  she  exclaimed.  "See  them  rushing  be 
tween  me  and  thee." 

"Enough,  father,  help,"  shrieked  Lucette. 
Reeling,  she  fell  in  a  swoon  at  Esperanza's 
feet. 

"Have  I  killed  her?"  questioned  Esperanza 
to  herself,  as  she  gazed  contemptuously  down 
on  her.  "Would  that  she  were  forever  re 
moved  from  my  path."  Quickly  drawing  a 
47 


stiletto  from  her  belt,  she  hesitated  and  then 
thought:  "Shall  I  make  sure  of  her  death? 
Enough,  that  I  have  gazed  upon  her  pale 
face  and  behold  her  lying  lifeless  and  helpless 
at  my  feet.  De  Monte  shall  never  know  of 
this  meeting,"  she  vowed,  as  she  hastily 
sheathed  her  stiletto. 

"Hark !  They  cometh."  Looking  around. 
"To  escape !  Ah,  the  window !  For  the  path 
that  leads  to  the  cliffs."  Hurriedly  mounting 
the  steps  which  led  up  to  the  window,  she 
turned  and  cast  a  glance  of  hatred  at  the 
prostrate  form  of  Lucette,  hissing:  "Coward. 
thou  doth  fear  thy  fate." 

Her  acute  ear  hearing  a  commotion  in  the 
adjoining  room,  she  suddenly  leaped  through 
the  casement  window,  just  as  Jute  rushed 
frantically  into  the  room.  Screaming  and 
flinging  herself  down  beside  Lucette's  inani 
mate  form,  she  hysterically  cried:  "Help, 
help!  Oh,  my  poor  dear  Missy  Lucette,  Fse 
knowed  dat  debbil  killed  yo ;  killed  ma  missy." 
Her  shrill  cry  of  anguish  brought  Adele, 
Leigh  and  Mr.  Fielding  horror  stricken  into 
the  room. 


48 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  ARRIVAL 

It  was  the  morning  following  the  arrival 
of  Lieutenant  Fielding  and  his  friend, 
Roderick  De  Monte  that  Jute  was  seen  dodg 
ing  between  the  tall  trees  and  the  shrubberies 
which  abounded  throughout  the  magnificent 
grounds  that  surrounded  the  Fielding  home. 

She  carried  a  large  white  bandbox.  Occa 
sionally  she  threw  a  glance  behind  as  if  she 
were  afraid  of  someone  pursuing  her. 
"Golly !"  she  chuckingly  exclaimed,  in  an 
audible  whisper,  as  she  set  the  bandbox  down 
on  a  rustic  bench,  which  was  situated  beneath 
a  large  spreading  ancient  oak. 

"Well,"  she  thought  to  herself,  looking 
anxiously  around,  "I'se  gess  dis  yer  coon  hab 
got  eben  wid  dat  dar  busybody,  Larry  Leigh, 
now.  He  jist  chased  dis  chile  'round  de 
house  fo'  de  las'  halb  hour,  tryin'  to  find  out 
what  Massa  Bert  fotched  dis  chile  home  in 
dis  yer  box.  I'se  got  ma  bref  now,  so  heah 
goes  to  open  de  luggage." 

"Oh,  a  'Merry  Widow,'  shore  as  yo'  born," 
she  joyfully  exclaimed  aloud,  as  she  quickly 
49 


removed  the  large  handsome  white  felt  hat 
from  out  of  the  bandbox,  and  which  she  in 
stantly  ventured  to  try  on.  Meditating: 
"Swell,  Massa  Bert,  you  jist  hit  de  rite  size. 
Sure  as  lubbers  ponder."  Then  peeping  again 
into  the  bandbox,  she  drew  forth  a  small 
white  case,  which  she  nervously  opened  and 
smilingly  contemplated  in  curious,  joyful  sur 
prise. 

"Well,"  she  soliloquized,  "Massa  Bert  Fse 
'spect  jist  nigh  ruin'd  hisselb  gibing  dis  yer 
black  trash  all  dese  walables.  Golly!  a  real 
lookin'  glass  in  de  box,  'n  a  neclace — 'n  de 
errin's — 'n  de  bracelets — dar  dey  be,  de  'hole 
fambly.  Dey  look  so  happy  dat  I'se  jist  hate 
to  'sturb  dem,  but  I'se  can't  desist  de  temp 
tation  ob  tryin'  on  de  'hole  kollection."  She 
proceeded  to  deck  herself  with  a  lavish  dis 
play  of  the  coral  jewels,  which  she  carefully, 
removed  from  the  box. 

While  Jute  was  busily  engaged  in  adorning 
and  surveying  herself  in  the  looking  glass, 
Larry  Leigh  quietly  advanced  from  behind  a 
tree  and,  perceiving  Jute,  laughingly  ex 
claimed:  "Go  on.  Jute,  you'd  make  a  first 
rate  'Marguerite' — only  your  a  little  off 
color." 

'Tend  to  yo'  own  color  and  doan  be  so 
50 


sneaky.     Yo'  be  jist  hoppin'  mad  kase  Massa 
Bert  didn't  fotch  yo'  home  a  present." 

"I'll  bet  your  whole  crop  of  wool  he  did." 

"Sure  as  lubbers  ponder?"  asked  Jute, 
opening  her  big  shining  eyes. 

"Sure  as  a  nigger  wonders,"  replied  Leigh, 
with  a  spirit  of  mischief  brimming  from  his 
soft  gray  eyes.  "And  it  was  all  nicely 
wrapped  up  in  white  tissue  paper,  too,"  said 
Leigh,  gleefully,  rubbing  his  hands  together. 

"I'se  gess  yo'  ain't  got  it  now?"  said  Jute, 
curiously,-  edging  up  to  him. 

"Guess  again.    Why  not?"  asked  Leigh. 

'  'Kase  I'se  gess  yo'  red-head  would  set  de 
tissue  paper  afire  long  'go,"  she  said,  laugh 
ingly. 

"I  say,  'Smoky,'  "  said  Leigh,  winking  his 
eye,  "maybe  you  wouldn't  like  to  take  a  peep 
at  it?"  as  he  drew  forth  a  parcel  from  his 
coat  pocket. 

"Yes,  I'se  would,"  returned  Jute,  bashfully, 
advancing  nearer  to  him,  decidedly  interested. 

Leigh  waited  until  Jute  was  close  beside 
him,  then  he  quickly  replaced  the  package  in 
his  pocket,  saying:  "Well,  upon  second  con 
sideration  I'm  afraid  your  little  black  mug 
would  cast  such  a  reflection  on  it  that,  really, 
you  wouldn't  be  able  to  tell  what  it  was." 
51 


"See  here,  doan  yo'  be  so  fresh,"  she  re 
plied,  saucily,  sticking  up  her  nose  and,  pick 
ing  up  the  bandbox  quickly,  she  walked  to 
ward  the  house.  Before  she  ascended  the 
steps  which  led  up  to  the  house,  she  cried 
out,  triumphantly:  "Massa  Bert  will  tell  dis 
yer  nigger  all  'bout  dat  tissue  paper  business." 
She  then  clumsily  ran  up  the  steps  of  the 
house. 

"Bye-bye,  'Blackbird,'  "  called  out  Leigh,  as 
the  slammed  door  hid  Jute  from  view.  "My, 
my."  ejaculated  Leigh  aloud,  "but  her  wings 
need  clipping!  Indeed."  said  Leigh,  thought 
fully.  "My  object  in  coming  this  way  was 
by  no  means  mere  curiosity,  as  Jute  probably 
thought,  but  to  keep  an  eye  on  our  lately 
arrived,  distinguished  guest,  Roderick  De 
Monte.  Here  comes  the  man  in  question 
now."  Quickly  opening  a  gate  that  led  out 
on  the  road,  he  passed  through  in  order  to 
avoid  De  Monte,  whom  he  happened  to  per 
ceive  coming  that  way. 

Scarcely  had  the  gate  clicked  behind  Leigh, 
when  Roderick  De  Monte  emerged  from  one 
of  the  garden  paths,  carelessly  carrying  a 
large  red  rose  in  his  hand.  He  stopped 
short  and  gazed  after  Leigh's  receding  form, 
and  then  with  a  sneer  on  his  cold  handsome 
52 


face,  he  remarked  to  himself:  "That  old  fel 
low  is  continually  stumbling  across  my  path. 
Probably  he  is  suspicious  of  me — probably  he 
is  right.  Lucette  Westly,  I  love,"  he  solilo 
quized,  "and  I  swear  she  shall  be  mine. 
Nothing  shall  set  aside  my  purpose  now — 
but  Esperanza — my  gypsy  love  of  the  past," 
he  reflected  a  moment,  then  with  a  bitter,  de 
fiant  leer,  he  thought,  "I'll  easily  get  rid  of 
her.  I'll  meet  her  but  once  again.  Then 
goodby  to  her  forever.  And  Lucette — ah  the 
very  thought  even  now,  of  Lieutenant 
Fielding  and  Lucette  being  alone  together 
for  a  moment  almost  drives  me  mad." 

The  morning  breeze  gently  wafted  the 
merry  voice  of  Lucette's  saying,  "Yes,  yes. 
This  way,"  as  she  and  the  Lieutenant  ap 
proached. 

"Ah.  voices !"  exclaimed  De  Monte  aloud. 
"This  tree,"  getting  quickly  behind  the  large 
oak  "will  obscure  me  until  they  pass  by."  De 
Monte's  face  assumed  an  ashy  hue,  as  Lucette 
and  Lieutenant  Fielding  entered  through  the 
open  garden  gate,  arm  in  arm,  and  sauntered 
over  to  the  rustic  bench  beneath  the  tree, 
where  De  Monte  was  concealed. 

"Surely,"  said  Lucette,  sweetly,  to  the  lieu 
tenant,  "you  must  be  fatigued  by  our  long 
53 


walk.  Let  us  rest  under  the  shade  of  this 
glorious  old  oak,"  said  Lieutenant  Fielding. 
"Now,  dear,"  said  he  removing  his  cap  and 
displaying  a  wealth  of  chestnut  brown  hair, 
the  natural  tendency  to  curl  setting  off  his 
broad,  noble  brow,  "tell  me,  little  one,  how 
have  you  passed  the  time  since  I  have  been 
away,"  said  he,  lovingly,  encircling  her  waist. 

"I'm  obliged  to  listen  to  their  tete-a-tete," 
thought  De  Monte,  holding  his  breath  in  ago 
nized  suspense. 

"Well,"  answered  Lucette  to  the  lieuten 
ant's  question,  as  she  deftly  arranged  a  beau 
tiful  tea-rose  on  her  gown.  "I  devoted  most 
of  my  time  to  my  music  and  painting."  Then 
quickly  looking  up  into  the  lieutenant's  face, 
she  sweetly  asked:  "And  you?" 

"Shall  I  tell  you?"  replied  he,  stroking  her 
sunny  curls.  "Well,  by  thinking  little  Lucette 
had  forgotten  me." 

"I  never  could  do  that,"  she  said,  bashfully 
dropping  her  eyes  and  carelessly  swinging  her 
large  garden  hat.  "Yet — you  seem  to  have 
forgotten  me." 

"How  so,  little  one?" 

"I  received  only  three  letters  from  you  dur 
ing  your  entire  absence,"  said  Lucette,  sol 
emnly. 

54 


"Three  letters?"  exclaimed  Lieutenant 
Fielding,  in  a  surprised  tone  of  voice.  "Why, 
I  wrote  you  fully  a  dozen." 

"Strange.  I  never  received  them,"  an 
swered  Lucette,  somewhat  perplexed. 

"Well,  no  wonder  you  thought  I  had  for 
gotten  you,  Lucette,  but  I  have  returned  just 
in  time  to  tell  you  that  I  never  can  forget 
you,"  he  earnestly  said,  kissing  her  fondly. 

"How  eloquent !"  blushingly  returned  Lu 
cette,  rising.  "Allow  me,"  she  smilingly  con 
tinued,  as  she  offered  him  the  rose  that  had 
been  pinned  to  the  bosom  of  her  dress. 

"Thanks.  I'll  prize  this,  said  he,  accepting 
the  rose  and  pressing  it  close  to  his  lips.  He 
then  placed  it  carefully  in  the  lapel  of  his 
coat. 

"Lieutenant  Fielding,  your  father  desires 
your  immediate  presence  in  the  library,"  said 
a  servant,  approaching  the  lieutenant.  "I  will 
be  with  him  presently."  Rising,  he  turned 
to  Lucette,  and  taking  her  hand  lightly,  kissed 
it,  saying:  "I  beg  to  be  excused.  I  will  see 
you  later."  Then  running  up  the  steps  of  the 
house,  he  waved  his  hand  and  cried,  "Au  re- 
voir."  Tossed  her  a  kiss  and  then  the  door 
closed  upon  him. 

"I  beg  not  to  be  excused,"  said  De  Monte 
55 


to  himself,  as  he  slowly  came  from  behind 
the  tree.  "I  will  remain  here  with  her," 
glancing  at  the  door  through  which  the  lieu 
tenant  had  disappeared.  Then  suddenly  con 
fronting  Lucette,  he  doffed  his  hat  to  her 
courteously,  saying:  "Good  morning,  Miss 
Westly." 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  De  Monte ;  how  you 
startled  me,"  said  Lucette,  moving  to  the  ex 
treme  end  of  the  bench  on  which  she  was 
sitting. 

''No  doubt  you  were  so  intently  thinking 
that  you  did  not  hear  my  approach.  I  hope," 
he  said  slowly,  "I  don't  intrude." 

"Be  seated,"  answered  Lucette,  coldly. 

"I  have  enjoyed  quite  a  stroll  through  the 
grounds  this  morning.  They  look  charming, 
Miss  Westly,  especially  the  rose-garden." 

"Yes,  indeed.  Mr.  Fielding  deserves  great 
praise.  He  has  about  the  finest  collection  of 
roses  that  are  in  this  section  of  the  country." 

"It  certainly  must  be  so  if  this  is  a  speci 
men,"  said  De  Monte,  keenly,  admiring  the 
red  rose  which  he  held  in  his  hand.  "What  a 
very  rich  color,"  he  exclaimed,  smelling  the 
rose.  "The  perfume  is  exquisite."  Slightly 
inclining  toward  her,  he  archly  offered  her  the 
flower.  "Surely,  you  will  not  refuse  it?" 
56 


"Thanks,"  returned  Lucette,  listlessly  ac 
cepting  the  rose  and  pinning  it  carelessly  on 
her  dress. 

"Good,"  said  De  Monte  to  himself.  "She 
accepts  my  offering,"  as  a  cynical  smile 
played  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"I  cannot  conceive,  Miss  Westly,"  he  re 
joined,  turning  to  Lucette,  "how  I  shall  ever 
be  able  to  tear  myself  away  from  this  lovely 
abode." 

Lucette  indifferently  asked.  "Then  you 
think  of  leaving  us  soon?" 

"Far  sooner  than  I  wish  for.  Urgent 
business  compels  me  to  make  the  sacrifice. 
Lieutenant  Fielding  insists,  however,  that  I 
continue  my  visit  immediately  after  my  busi 
ness  affairs  are  settled.  I  hope  my  visit  will 
be  agreeable  to  you,  Miss  Westly." 

Lucette  rising,  frigidly  answered :  "Lieuten 
ant  Fielding's  friends  we  shall  endeavor  to 
treat  courteously,  most  assuredly.  Pray  ex 
cuse  me,  Mr.  De  Monte.  We  shall  meet  at 
luncheon."  Bowing  rather  stiffly,  she  turned 
to  go  into  the  house. 

"Decidedly  cool,"  De  Monte  sarcastically 
remarked  aloud.  A  sinister  expression  shad 
owed  his  face,  as  he  nervously  twisted  his 
mustache.  "I'll  win  her  yet,  or  die  in  the 
57 


attempt.  I'll  abide  my  time,  and  then  beware, 
you  sweet,  pretty  elf,"  soliloquized  he,  as  he 
hurriedly  walked  away. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    PROPOSED   TRIP 

Lieutenant  and  Mr.  Fielding  were  seated 
beside  a  table,  looking  over  some  papers,  in 
one  of  the  most  pleasant  rooms  the  Fielding 
home  possessed — Mr.  Fielding's  study. 

"Well,  son,  not  wishing  to  mar  the  pleasure 
of  your  recent  arrival,  I  did  not  inform  you 
immediately  that  I  would  be  obliged  to  take 
an  unexpected  business  trip.  Lucette's  inter 
ests  are  at  stake.  There  is  trouble  concerning 
her  mine." 

"That  is  an  unfortunate  affair,"  returned 
the  lieutenant,  surprised.  "I'm  sorry.  Do 
you  wish  me  to  accompany  you,  dad?  If  so,  I 
am  at  your  service." 

"And  spoil  your  visit,"  said  Mr.  Fielding, 
58 


tipping-  back  in  his  cliair.  "I'll  not  hear  of  it, 
my  boy !" 

''Well,  if  you  intend  going  alone  I  insist  on 
going  with  you.  I  regret  leaving  Lucette  so 
soon,  but  I'll  be  sure  to  make  up  for  lost 
time  upon  our  return." 

"Well.  How  about  our  guest.  Your  friend, 
Mr.  De  Monte?"  anxiously  inquired  Mr. 
Fielding. 

"He  will  not  alter  any  plans  that  you  may 
make  in  the  least.  De  Monte  intends  to  leave 
us  in  the  course  of  a  day  or  so  to  attend  to  a 
business  transaction  of  his  own." 

"I  thought  that  he  was  likely  to  remain 
with  us  for  some  time,"  remarked  Mr. 
Fielding,  surprised. 

"He  will,  immediately  after  his  business  af 
fairs  are  settled.  The  trip  with  you  will  be 
new  for  me,  dad,  so  let  it  be  understood  now 
that  I  accompany  you." 

"As  you  will,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Fielding, 
pleasantly  yielding. 

"I  wish  to  speak  seriously  to  you,  my  son," 
said  he,  laying  his  hand  gently  upon  the  lieu 
tenant's  shoulder.  "I  am  going  to  ask  you 
rather  an  embarrassing  question.  What  are 
your  intentions  toward  Lucette?" 

"Both  gentlemanly  and  honorably,"  replied 
59 


he,  raising  his  truthful  eyes  and  looking 
clearly  into  his  venerable  father's  face. 

"Then  you  love  her,  my  son?"  he  breath 
lessly  asked. 

''Love  her,  probably  more  than  you  even 
dream  of.  But,"  said  he,  sighing  and  slightly 
shrugging  his  shoulders,  he  continued: 
"Lucette  is  an  heiress.  Were  she  a  poor  girl, 
I  would  not  hesitate  a  moment  to  lay  my 
heart  at  her  feet." 

"Your  pride,  my  boy,  then  prevents  you 
from  doing  what  your  heart  dictates,"  said 
Mr.  Fielding,  rising  and  lighting  his  cigar. 

"Frame  it  as  you  will,  father,  but  I  should 
detest  being  classed  as  a  fortune  seeker." 

"Who  would  be  base  enough  to  associate 
your  actions  as  such?"  indignantly  inquired 
Mr.  Fielding. 

"Somehow,  it  has  been  whispered  about  my 
regiment  that  I  evidently  have  an  heiress  in 
view.  My  comrades  do  not  openly  accuse 
me  of  being  at  all  love-sick,  hence  the  rumor 
— it's  the  fortune,  not  the  lady  so  much  in 
question." 

"Could  De  Monte  be  the  instigator  of  that 
report?"  inquired  Mr.  Fielding,  suspiciously. 

"De  Monte?"  repeated  Lieutenant  Fielding, 
a  look  of  intense  surprise  overspreading  his 
60 


manly  countenance ;  then  after  a  moment's 
pause,  he  continued,  in  a  piqued  voice:  "I 
regret,  father,  to  see  you  disloyal,  even  in 
thought,  to  our  guest.  Do  you  forget  that 
we  are  indebted  to  De  Monte  for  saving  my 
life?" 

"Ah,  yes,  my  boy.  But  the  proof — the 
proof,"  questioned  Mr.  Fielding,  emphati 
cally. 

"\\hat  more  proof — than  when  I  regained 
consciousness  in  a  fisherman's  hut  after  being 
rescued  .from  a  watery  grave,  I  beheld 
Roderick  De  Monte  administering  to  my 
wants.  He  was  dripping  wet  and  seemed 
completely  exhausted," 

"I  wish  I  could  bring  myself  to  believe  as 
you  do,"  said  Mr.  Fielding  perplexed. 

"Ah,  dad,"  reproachfully  replied  the  lieu 
tenant,  slowly  shaking  his  head.  "You  seem 
to  mistrust  my  friend." 

"Are  you  aware  that  Lucette  does  like 
wise  ?" 

"Well,  no.  I  thought  De  Monte  being  a 
handsome  fellow,  that  Lucette  would  be  more 
likely  to  be  charmed  with  him  than  other 
wise,"  bluntly  said  the  lieutenant. 

"And  were  she  charmed  with  him,"  hesi 
tatingly  said  Mr.  Fielding,  "there  would  be 
61 


one  more  miserable  man  in  the  world — loving 
her  as  you  do?" 

"Concerning  love,  dad,"  quickly  responded 
the  lieutenant,  "I  believe  in  giving  a  woman 
full  sway.  Her  heart  is  her  own  to  bestow 
on  whom  she  may  please.  Should  De  Monte 
win  Lucette — I  would  resign  my  suit  without 
a  murmur." 

"Xever  fear.  I  believe  his  attentions  are 
bestowed  on  Adele  Thorn,"  said  Mr.  Fielding. 

"By  the  way."  said  the  lieutenant,  seriously, 
"De  Monte  did  receive  a  number  of  letters 
postmarked  California.  Probably  he  did  leave 
his  heart  in  fair  Adele's  keeping  after  his 
first  visit  here  with  us.  If  so — I  wish  them 

joy." 

"Then  it  is  a  settled  fact,"  remarked  Mr. 
Fielding,  looking  at  his  watch,  "that  we  jour 
ney  together." 

"By  all  means,  dad,"  replied  the  lieutenant, 
yawning,  then  rising  from  the  chair,  he 
walked  across  the  room  and  threw  himself 
clown  upon  the  luxuriant  leather  couch.  "I 
have  letters  to  write  which  must  be  ready  for 
the  mail,  so  I  will  leave  you  for  a  while," 
said  Mr.  Fielding,  replacing  a  book  on  the 
table,  after  which  he  quietly  left  the  room. 

The  lieutenant  reaching  for  a  newspaper 
62 


that  happened  to  be  lying  on  the  couch  beside 
him,  had  scarcely  become  absorbed  in  its  con 
tents  when  he  was  interrupted  by  Jute  bolting 
noisily  into  the  room. 

"Oh,  dar  yo'  be,  Massa  Bert."  Then  look 
ing  solemnly  at  him,  she  continued :  "Massa 
Bert,  yo'  nebber  tell  fibs,  do  yo'?" 

"Never;  never  tell  them,"  he  seriously  an 
swered,  jumping  up  quickly. 

"  'Kase  dis  chile  wants  to  know  if  yo' 
fetched  Leigh  home  a  present  all  'rapped  up 
in  tissue  paper?" 

"Yes.  'I — brought  him  a  revolver,"  said 
the  lieutenant,  in  a  blustering  voice. 

"Oh,"  said  Jute  dejectedly. 

"Are  you  afraid  of  firearms?"  asked  the 
lieutenant,  in  an  inspiring  military  tone  of 
voice,  looking  keenly  at  Jute. 

"No.  Nor  'fraid  of  fireheads,"  she  ener 
getically  said,  striking  her  little  black  fist  upon 
the  table. 

"Come.  Come  Jute,"  laughingly  said  the 
lieutenant.  "I  see  you  are  dead  against 
Leigh.  I  think  him  a  right  good  fellow." 

"Massa  Bert,  dis  yer  chile  won't  'spute 
what  yo'  say,  ony  tell  dat  warm  lookin'  gen'- 
man  to  hab  a  certain  'guard  fo'  dis  yer  nig 
ger's  temper." 

63 


"Come  along  with  me,  Jute,"  said  he,  tak 
ing  her  by  the  hand,  a  broad  smile  illuminat 
ing  his  face,  "and  we'll  settle  this  difficulty 
at  once." 

"Is  yo'  gwyne  to  git  yo'  gun,  Massa  Bert?" 
asked  Jute,  anxiously,  as  she  left  the  room 
joyfully  with  the  lieutenant. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    CONSPIRACY 

The  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens,  the  little 
love  birds  that  had  flitted  from  tree  to  tree 
so  joyously  during  the  pleasant  early  morn 
were  now  quietly  nestling  among  the  trees 
sheltered  from  the  noonday  heat.  The  peace- 
full  quietude  that  reigned  within  the  magnifi 
cent  grounds  of  the  Fielding  home  was  re 
lieved  only  by  the  little  love  birds'  occasional 
twitter  and  the  buzzing  of  the  bees  that  flitted 
from  flower  to  flower  to  rob  them  of  their 
sweets.  The  rustling  of  the  dry  October 
64 


leaves  signaled  the  presence  of  a  woman  who 
\vas  cautiously  making  her  way  through  the 
shrubbery.  It  was  none  other  than  Aclele 
Thorn.  Her  dress  was  of  a  light  green  ma 
terial,  which  was  in  keeping  with  the  warm 
day.  Her  hat,  a  wide-brimmed  affair,  was 
covered  with  dainty  daisies.  She  looked 
cautiously  about,  turned,  and  suddenly  con 
fronted  Roderick  De  Monte,  who  evidently 
had  been  expecting  her. 

"For  once,  Adele,  you  are  punctual,"  said 
he,  looking  at  his  watch. 

"I  have  just  a  few  moments  to  spare,"  said 
Adele,  hurriedly,  "so  let  us  come  to  an  un 
derstanding  at  once.  Shall  we  continue  to 
work  for  the  benefit  of  each  other's  interest?" 
asked  he,  his  eyes  anxiously  scanning  her 
face. 

"Go  on,"  she  sullenly  replied,  "I  am  listen- 
ing." 

"You  love  Lieut.  Fielding,"  said  De  Monte, 
slowly.  "I  love  Lucette  Westly.  Neither  loves 
us  in  return ;  great  consolation,  that.  But 
they  shall  in  spite  of  every  obstacle,"  he  said, 
a  dangerous  light  creeping  into  his  eyes. 

"Then  you  have  lied  to  me,  Roderick  De 
Monte !"  said  Adele,  in  a  deliberate  tone  of 
voice.  Then  turning  quickly,  her  eyes  flash- 
65 


ing  indignantly,  she  continued :  "Lied  to  me 
by  leading  me  to  believe  that  Lieut.  Fielding 
cared  for  me.  You  have  used  me  simply  as 
your  dupe  to  meet  your  own  selfish  ends.  I 
told  you  neither  of  us  would  succeed."  She 
choked  back  the  tears  that  already  dimmed 
here  eyes. 

"Not  succeed  when  I  have  sworn  Lucette 
Westly  shall  be  mine?"  said  he  excitedly. 

"Why  have  you  led  me  to  believe  that 
Lieut.  Fielding  loved  me?"  she  asked  in  a 
quivering  voice.  "Never  has  he  breathed  a 
word  of  love  to  me,"  she  continued,  sorrow 
fully;  and,  plucking  a  rose,  she  held  it  in 
close  proximity  to  her  face,  and  which  served 
to  catch  her  falling  tear. 

"Most  assuredly,"  pointedly  said  De  Monte. 
"Lieut.  Fielding  cannot  help  but  notice  that 
you  are  extremely  reserved  toward  him; 
naturally  he  feels  timid  about  confessing  his 
love  for  you,"  said  he  hesitatingly. 

"You  really  think  so?"  replied  Adele 
coolly,  looking  him  straight  in  the  face. 

"I  know  it,  positively,"  asserted  De  Monte, 
as  he  sat  down  on  the  rustic  bench  beside 
Adele.  "Now,  take  my  advice,  Adele.  Make 
yourself  over  agreeable  to  Lieut.  Fielding 
whenever  the  slightest  opportunity  presents 
66 


itself.  Do  not  allow  Lucette  to  stand  a 
moment  in  your  way.  Both  you  and  the 
lieutenant  are  handsome  and  charming. 
You'll  win  him  sure."  Just  at  that  instant 
the  sound  of  a  bell  was  heard. 

"I  must  be  going,"  said  Adele.  "That  is 
the  first  luncheon  bell.  I'll  meet  you  here 
tonight,"  she  said  briefly,  as  she  quickly 
walked  away. 

"Ah !  She  was  about  to  turn  traitor,"  re 
marked  De  Monte,  sarcastically,  to  himself, 
as  he  watched  her  lithe  form  disappear  among 
the  trees.  "I  have  calmed  her  fears  for  the 
present,"  he  thought,  "and  I  guess  I  can 
depend  upon  her  to  keep  Lucette  and  the 
lieutenant  apart  until  my  return." 

"Ah!  Miss  Westly,"  said  De  Monte,  as 
Lucette  ran  lightly  down  the  steps,  and  then 
walked  over  to  the  bench  on  which  De 
Monte  was  lounging.  "Back  again?"  he 
cheerily  asked. 

"I  had  forgotten  my  sunshade,"  she  said, 
looking  around.  "This  must  be  it,"  cried  De 
Monte,  as  he  reached  down  and  picked  up 
her  parasol,  which  had  fallen  behind  the 
rustic  seat. 

"Thanks,"  she  returned  curtly.  "The  sun 
is  so  strong,"  she  said,  as  she  opened  it. 
67 


Just  then  the  door  leading  to  the  veranda 
opened,  and  Lieut.  Fielding  made  his  ap 
pearance.  Perceiving  De  Monte  and  Lucette, 
he  quickly  ran  over  to  them.  Slapping  De 
Monte  good-naturedly  on  the  shoulder,  said: 
"Well,  old  boy,  I  have  been  looking  all  over 
for  you.  Enjoying  yourselves?"  he  inquired, 
quizzingly,  looking  at  them. 

"Miss  Westly  and  I  have  passed  the  time 
pleasantly,"  remarked  De  Monte,  with  a 
suave  smile. 

"How  presumptuous,"  thought  Lucette  to 
herself,  a  frown  knitting  her  serene  brow. 

"Strolling  about  the  garden,  I  suppose," 
cheerfully  asserted  Lieut.  Fielding. 

De  Monte,  ignoring  his  assertion,  quickly 
asked  the  following  question :  "Bert,  you 
remember  of  plucking  me  a  rose  this  morn 
ing?" 

"Yes ;  one  of  our  choicest  specimens. 
Why?"  he  anxiously  asked. 

"Miss  Lucette  bears  the  trophy  of  your 
labor,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  rose  on 
Lucette's  dress. 

Lucette  looked  bewildered   for  a  moment, 

then  suddenly  glancing  at  the  forgotten  rose 

which  De  Monte  had  induced  her  to  accept 

in  his  cunning  way  earlier  in  the  morning,  a 

68 


sarcastic  smile  passed  over  her  fair  oval  face. 

Lieut.  Fielding,  somewhat  confused  and 
surprised,  made  no  outward  remark ;  but, 
glancing  quickly  at  Lucette,  the  thought 
flashed  through  his  mind,  "Strange,  Lucette 
dislikes  this  man,  yet  accepts  his  offerings." 
Then  tossing  off  the  slight  depression  that 
seemed  to  overcome  him,  he  smilingly  said : 
"By  the  way.  Rod,  old  boy,  dad  is  obliged, 
I  am  very  sorry  to  say,  to  take  a  busi 
ness  trip  in  the  course  of  a  day  or  so,  and 
I  am  to  accompany  him.  Would  you  like  to 
make  the  trip  with  us?  It  is,  I  believe,  in 
the  same  direction  as  you  intend  going." 

"Why !  Are  you  all  thinking  of  going 
away  so  soon  ?"  asked  Lucette  in  breathless 
surprise. 

"Yes,  Lucette.  It  is  unavoidable.  It  is 
business  concerning  your  mine,"  said  Lieut. 
Fielding,  seriously. 

"You  will  surely  come  in  contact  with 
some  wild  beasts  among  the  'Sierras.'  I  am 
sorry  you  are  going  to  that  wild  section.  I 
will  speak  to  your  father  about  this  contem 
plated  journey.  It  is  too  bad — all  our  en 
joyment — spoiled.  Excuse  me,  gentlemen," 
she  said,  brushing  back  a  tear  from  hei 
lustrous  blue  eyes.  She  walked  quickly 

69 


av.-ay,  mounted  the  stairs  with  a  bound,  and 
passed  into  the  house. 

"What  a  tender-hearted  little  creature," 
said  the  lieutenant,  gazing  after  her,  sighing, 
as  he  watched  her  retreating  form.  "She 
imagines  we  will  have  to  face  danger."  De 
Monte  appeared  to  be  in  a  deep  study  for  a 
moment,  then  turning  to  Lieut.  Fielding,  he 
ventured  carelessly  to  suggest:  "You  leav 
ing  so  soon ;  probably  we  could  travel  part 
of  the  way  together." 

"Good ;  I  wrish  we  could  induce  you  to 
make  the  entire  trip  with  us.  The  scenery 
is  divine.  The  hunting  superb.  You,  no 
doubt,  have  passed  through  the  'Sierras.' " 

"Oh,  certainly,"  De  Monte  drawlingly  an 
swered;  then  bitterly  thought:  "Twas  there, 
among  those  mountains,  Esperanza,  the 
gypsy  girt.  first  crossed  my  path." 

"Well,  after  our  business  affairs  are  set 
tled,  \ve  will  indulge  in  a  perfect  whirlwind 
of  pleasure.  I  wish  to  enjoy  myself  and 
take  a  good  rest  before  I  return  to  my  regi 
ment."  Offering  De  Monte  a  cigar,  he  said: 
"We  have  a  few  moments  yet,  before  lunch. 
Cone,  allow  me  to  show  you  our  aviary." 
And  linking  his  arm  within  De  Monte's,  they 
passed  down  the  path  together. 
70 


CHAPTER  XI. 
JUTE'S  OUTING 

"Phew !"  exclaimed  Larry  Leigh,  wiping 
off  the  beads  of  perspiration  that  oozed  from 
his  brow.  "It's  pretty  hot."  Leigh  had  just 
left  the  post  office,  where  he  had  received 
three  letters.  Assorting  them,  he  quietly 
remarked :  "Two  for  Mr.  Fielding,  and  one 
for  Roderick  De  Monte."  Earnestly  scrutin 
izing  the  letter  that  was  addressed  to  De 
Monte,  he  remarked:  "Soiled  envelope,  and 
the  direction  mispelled.  It's  a  mystery,  like 
himself."  Placing  the  letters  in  his  coat 
pocket,  he  spied  Jute  coming  toward  him, 
dressed  in  a  white  linen  suit,  and  wearing  the 
new  bonnet,  "Massa  Bert  fetched  her  home." 
She  was  strutting  along  the  walk,  tilting  a 
large  rose-colored  sunshade  (evidently  one 
that  Lucette  had  discarded),  and  unconscious 
of  Leigh's  presence. 

"Hello,  Jute.  Where  are  you  bound  for? 
I  hardly  knew  you.  You  look  so  'swell/ " 
said  Leigh,  intercepting  her. 

"How  does  this  coon  look  in  her  new  rig?" 
she  asked,  turning  around  for  Leigh  to  have 
71 


a  chance  to  survey  her  finery.  "I'se  gwyne 
on  a  message  fo'  Missy  Adele,"  she  asserted, 
with  a  slight  little  tilt  of  her  nose. 

"On  a  mash,  eh?  Faith,  I  wouldn't  be  sur 
prised  but  what  you  could  mash  some  ebony 
dude." 

"  'N  ebony  dude  wouldn't  bite  as  readily 
as  yo'  red-errin,"  said  she,  tilting  her  head 
back,  and  walking  hastily  away. 

Leigh,  gazing  intently  after  Jute,  raised 
his  hand,  and  was  about  to  give  vent  to  his 
surprise,  when  "Criss,"  a  nigger  dude,  hap 
pened  to  be  coming  down  the  street  at  break 
neck  speed,  and  bumped  accidently  into 
Leigh's  back.  Leigh,  turning  suddenly 
around  in  an  endeavor  to  see  what  struck 
him,  happened  to  knock  Criss's  hat  off. 

"Go  'long,"  sulkily  muttered  Criss,  as  he 
stooped  to  regain  his  hat.  "What  yo'  take  de 
'hole  sidewalk  fo'?" 

"Hold  on,  Coon,"  said  Leigh  grasping  him 
tightly  by  the  coat  collar,  "until  we  explain 
matters  a  bit.  Next  time  don't  you  try  to 
send  your  body  through  a  man's  shoulder 
blade." 

"I  say.  Let  dis  gen'man  go.  I'se  lose 
sight  ob  ma  gal,"  yelled  Criss,  struggling  to 
free  himself. 

72 


"What  gal?  You  mean  the  little  nigger 
that  just  went  by,"  angrily  asked  Leigh. 

"Yes.   sah." 

"You  know  her,  do  you?" 

"Xo,  sah.  But  if  yo'  give  dis  gen'man  a 
chance  I  will,"  returned  Criss,  endeavoring 
to  free  himself  from  Leigh's  sturdy  grip. 

"You  will,  will  you?"  said  Leigh,  giving 
him  a  punch.  "Willy-boy;  well,  you  won't." 

"Let  go!  Help!  Perlice!"  cried  Criss,  as 
Leigh  engaged  him  in  an  angry  tussle.  "Now 
I  am  through  with  you — you  possum.  And 
mind  now,  don't  you  follow  a  decent  girl 
again  in  a  hurry."  Picking  up  Criss's  hat  he 
tossed  it  toward  him.  "Skit,"  he  cried.  "I'll 
scalp  you.  Do  you  mind  that,  now?  Scoot." 

Criss  immediately  took  to  his  heels,  and 
almost  flew  down  the  street,  much  to  the  dis 
gust  of  "Toughy,"  a  little  newsboy,  who  had 
whistled  up  all  "cle  gang"  to  witness  a  real 
live  set-to. 

"I  wonder  if  Jute  would  be  convinced 
now,"  soliloquized  Leigh,  endeavoring  to  tie 
his  cravat  that  had  become  disarranged  dur 
ing  the  impromptu  mixup.  "That  an  ebony 
dude  took  water  more  readily  than  the  red- 
herring." 

"Faith,  it's  pretty  nigh  dusk.  I  have  lost 
73 


too  much  valuable  time  already,  as  Mr.  Field 
ing  and  the  lieutenant  depart  early  tomorrow 
morning.  Ha !  Ha !  Late  as  usual.  The 
first  star  out.  Sorry,  but  it's  all  over,"  mur 
mured  Leigh,  as  a  burly  officer  of  the  law 
strutted  by.  "Toughy"  and  "de  gang"  im 
mediately  gave  him  the  merry  ha,  ha,  and 
sprinted  away  eager  for  a  chase  from  the 
lone,  foot-sore  bluecoat. 


74 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  EXCHANGED  ROSE 

Twilight  was  creeping  silently  on,  as  Leigh 
raised  the  latch  of  the  massive  gate  that  led 
into  the  grounds  that  surrounded  the  Fielding 
mansion.  The  library  was  ablaze  with  light, 
and  it  was  there  that  Leigh  quickly  directed 
his  steps.  Mr.  Fielding  and  the  lieutenant 
was  seated  beside  a  large  oak  table  looking 
over  some  documents. 

"Yes ;  all  our  necessary  arrangements  are 
at  last  completed,  so  now  we  are  ready  in 
time  for  our  departure,"  said  Mr.  Fielding, 
with  a  satisfactory  look  at  the  lieutenant, 
who  was  absorbed  in  the  classification  of 
some  papers. 

"Lucette  feels  dreadfully  depressed  over 
the  prospect  of  our  journey,"  said  the  lieu 
tenant,  looking  up  sadly. 

''Indeed  she  does,  poor  girl,"  assented  Air. 
Fielding,  as  Leigh  softly  entered  the  room. 
"Good  evening,"  gentlemen.  Here  is  the 
mail,"  said  he,  producing  the  letters  and 
laying  them  upon  the  table. 

"Leigh,  be  seated  a  moment,"  requested 
75 


Mr.  Fielding,  as  he  glanced  at  the  letters.  "I 
have  a  request  to  ask  of  you.  During  my 
absence  I  will  entrust  Lucette,  whom  I  prize 
as  my  life,  in  your  care  until  my  return," 
said  he,  grasping  Leigh's  hand  firmly. 

"I  have  but  one  life  to  lose,"  he  answered, 
returning  Mr.  Fielding's  grasp  of  the  hand. 
"Willingly  would  I  lose  it  in  Miss  Lucette's 
behalf.  She  shall,  during  your  absence,  Mr. 
Fielding,  be  my  special  care." 

"Bravely  spoken,"  cried  Lieutenant  Field 
ing.  "I  understand  that  Roderick  De  Monte 
journeys  with  you,"  remarked  Leigh,  in  a 
measured  tone,  as  he  looked  first  at  Mr. 
Fielding  and  then  at  the  lieutenant. 

"Only  part  of  the  way,"  gravely  replied 
Mr.  Fielding. 

"Excuse  me,  gentlemen,"  said  Leigh,  rising 
and  looking  somewhat  perplexed,  "if  I  ex 
press  an  opinion.  I  don't  like  that  man  De 
Monte.  Take  a  true  friend's  advice.  Don't 
trust  him  too  far." 

"Strange,  none  of  you  seem  to  be  over- 
partial  where  my  friend  De  Monte  is  con 
cerned,"  said  Lieut.  Fielding,  in  an  injured 
tone. 

"Pardon  me,"  returned  Leigh,  a  flush 
mantling  his  cheek,  "probably  I  should  not 
76 


have  mentioned  this  subject;  still  1  have  a 
reason  for  doing  so." 

"I  know,  Leigh,  you  are  interested  in  our 
welfare,"  remarked  the  lieutenant,  as  he 
gently  laid  his  hand  upon  Leigh's  shoulder. 
"So  no  apology  from  you,  old  fellow." 

"Leigh,"  interrupted  Mr.  Fielding,  "what 
has  become  of  Chesterfield's  address.  It  is 
very  essential.  I  must  have  it." 

"It  is  in  your  private  desk,  sir,"  answered 
Leigh. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Fielding,  rising,  "we 
will  go  and  look  it  up." 

"At  your  service,  sir,"  returned  Leigh,  fol 
lowing  in  Mr.  Fielding's  footsteps. 

The  lieutenant,  left  alone,  wondered  why 
Lucette  had  not  as  yet  put  in  an  appearance. 
Hearing  some  one  approach,  he  looked  up 
quickly,  expecting  it  were  she.  The  door 
opened  and  Adele  entered,  carrying  a  chess 
board. 

"Good  evening,  Lieutenant.  Alone?"  she 
coquettishly  asked. 

"Can  you  tell  me  what  detains  Lucette?" 
asked  the  lieutenant,  evading  her  question. 

Always  Lucette,  she  snappishly  thought, 
a  scowl  darkening  her  otherwise  pretty  face. 
77 


She  answered  coldly,  saying:  "Lucette  com 
plained  of  a  headache." 

"Indeed?"  said  the  lieutenant  disappoint 
edly,  as  Adele  seated  herself  comfortably  in 
the  dark  leather  easy-chair. 

"I've  lost  patience  with  Lucette,"  petulantly 
continued  Adele.  "She  is  the  most  whimsical 
child  I  ever  came  in  contact  with.  I  insisted 
upon  her  joining  us  tonight — it  being  your 
last  evening  at  home.  She  consented,  but 
scarcely  had  I  reached  the  door  of  her  room, 
ere  she  changed  her  mind,  and  indifferently 
said  probably  she  would  see  you  in  the  morn 
ing  before  your  departure."  (Exultingly 
aside)  :  "It  was  at  my  suggestion." 

"I  regret  very  much  to  be  deprived  of  Lu- 
cette's  company,"  said  the  lieutenant  in  a 
somewhat  hurt  voice. 

"Were  I  in  her  place,"  said  Adele,  rising, 
"I  would  gladly  sacrifice  my  feelings  once  in 
a  while  to  please  my  friends."  Then,  draw 
ing  near  the  lieutenant,  she  archly  looked 
up,  exclaiming :  "Oh,  what  a  lovely  rosebud !" 
alluding  to  the  boutanniere  he  wore. 

"Do  you  really  admire  it?"  he  asked  pleas 
antly. 

"And  mean  to  have  it,"  replied  Adele,  taking 
the  rosebud  deftly  from  his  lapel.    "How  fra- 
78 


grant  it  is,"  she  continued  as  she  inhaled  its 
perfume. 

"I  don't  wish  to  part  with  that  bud.  /  must 
hare  it  back  again.  Please,  Miss  Adele,"  he 
said  anxiously,  extending  his  hand. 

"Must  hare  it?"  she  answered,  coquet- 
tishly  hiding  the  rose  behind  her.  "No,  no. 
Just  to  punish  you  a  little,  I  will  not  give  it 
back,"  she  poutingly  replied. 

"Please,  Miss  Adele.  Give  me  the  rose," 
he  repeated  quite  seriously,  and  looked  very 
sternly  at  her. 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  she  said,  looking  amazed, 
and  at  the  same  time  tossing  back  her  queenly 
little  head,  "but  I  have  already  said  no,  and 
I  never  like  to  break  my  word.  It's  awfully 
sweet,"  she  continued,  smelling  the  rose,  "and 
there  are  plenty  more  in  the  rose-garden ;  so," 
she  said  poutingly,  "please  do  not  begrudge 
me  this  simple  little  token  on  the  eve  of  your 
departure." 

Lieutenant  Fielding  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  resignedly  said :  "You  having  possession, 
Miss  Adele" — 

"Is    nine    points    of    the    law,"    interrupted 

Adele,     laughingly.       "The     bud     is     mine. 

Thanks,"  taking  it  for  granted  she  had  won 

her  point.     Then,  pinning  the  bud  upon  her 

79 


dress,  a  radiant  smile  lit  up  her  face  in  victori 
ous  triumph.  Discerning  the  lieutenant's  de 
jected  look,  she  exclaimed:  "What  a  serious 
face !  I  shall  be  obliged  to  awaken  Lucette 
to  see  if  she  can  make  you  smile." 

"Under  no  circumstances  shall  I  allow  Lu 
cette  to  be  disturbed,"  replied  he,  seating 
himself. 

"Good.  I  managed  to  keep  them  apart  for 
tonight,"  thought  Adele  happily. 

"Say,  Missy  Adele,  Missy  Lucette  wants 
yo'  'mediately,"  cried  Jute,  unceremoniously 
popping  her  frowsy  head  in  at  the  door. 

"I'll-  be  with  her  presently,"  said  Adele, 
nervously  glancing  at  the  lieutenant. 

"Al  rite,  Missy.  Only  doan  yo'  forgit," 
said  Jute,  as  she  warningly  lifted  her  little 
black  finger,  before  she  banged  the  door  be 
hind  her. 

"Have  you  any  message  for  Lucette?" 
asked  Adele  of  the  lieutenant  as  she  was 
about  to  leave  the  room. 

"My  regrets  that  she  is  ill,  and  I  hope  to 
see  her  before  I  leave." 

"I  deliver  that  message?  Never,"  said 
Adele  under  her  breath,  as  she  took  her  de 
parture. 

"All  alone.  Master  Bert?  Where  are  all 
80 


the  ladies?"  inquired  Leigh,  entering-  the 
room ;  after  which  he  was  soon  engaged  in 
selecting  a  book  from  the  library  shelf.  "Your 
father  was  asking  for  you,"  he  resumed. 

"All  right,  I'll  go  with  you  now  and  we'll 
find  dad,"  said  the  lieutenant,  rising.  Both 
gentlemen  then  went  in  quest  of  Mr.  Fielding. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE     CLANDESTINE    APPOINTMENT 

Anxiously  pacing  up  and  down  the  walk 
in  front  of  the  Fielding  home,  Roderick  De- 
Monte  suddenly  halted.  The  full  moon  cast 
ing  its  reflection  o'er  his  face,  revealed  a 
pallid,  worried,  anxious  countenance.  Step 
ping  toward  the  stone  steps  which  led  up  to 
the  house,  he  paused  directly  beneath  the 
garden  lamp,  which  was  held  in  the  hands 
of  a  bronze  goddess.  Consulting  his  time 
piece,  he  scowlingly  remarked  to  himself: 
"Adele  is  later  than  usual ;  however,"  look- 
81 


ing  cautiously  around,  "I  will  peruse  the  con 
tents  of  this  letter,  which  I  had  almost  for 
gotten.  Evidently  from  my  gypsy  love,"  he 
sneeringly  said  aloud,  a  malicious  grin  set 
tling  o'er  his  features.  Tearing  open  the 
envelope,  he  perused  the  epistle,  which  read  as 
follows : 
"Mine  Own  Roderick: 

"The  clays  linger,  the  nights  seem  to 
lengthen  since  thou  hast  left  me  alone.  Why 
dost  thou  roam?  Three  moons  shall  I  await 
thy  coming.  Should'st  thou  fail,  a  gypsy's 
vengeance  shall  shadow  thy  path. 

"ESPERANZA." 

"Dare  she  threaten  me?"  said  he,  tearing 
the  letter  to  fragments.  "I'll  soon  stop  her 
pretty  warnings.  She  shall  never  come  be 
tween  Lucette  and  I.  Curse  her !"  he  ven 
omously  hissed  as  he  walked  away,  his  form 
lost  to  view  mid  the  dark  foliage. 

De  Monte  barely  missed  Leigh,  who,  at 
that  very  moment  crossed  the  garden  and 
mounted  the  steps  leading  up  to  the  house. 
His  acute  ear  caught  the  sound  of  a  rustling 
between  the  trees.  He  suddenly  stopped,  and 
peering  into  the  darkness,  thought,  "I  wonder 
if  that  can  be  De  Monte.  If  so,  I  don't  like 
his  actions."  He  then  cautiously  opened  the 
door  of  the  mansion. 

82 


"Roderick  !  Roderick  !  Where  are  you  ?" 
softly  called  Adele,  who  had  just  entered  the 
grounds  through  the  garden  gate. 

"Late  as  usual.  I  have  been  waiting  some 
time,"  impatiently  said  De  Monte,  emerging 
from  the  shrubbery. 

"Congratulate  me.  I  have  seen  the  lieu 
tenant,"  said  Adele  eagerly. 

"Did  you  succeed  in  winning  a  smile  from 
him  ?" 

"If  not,"  replied  Adele,  sarcastically,  "I  did 
a  favor  for  you.  Lucette  and  the  lieutenant 
will  be  kept  apart  for  the  evening." 

"Good.  How  did  you  manage  it  so  ad 
roitly,  Adele?" 

"Lucette  complained  of  a  headache,  most 
likely  a  heartache.  I  told  her  that  she  was 
looking  miserable,  and  had  better  not  leave 
her  room.  The  little  simpleton  did  exactly 
as  I  bade  her." 

"So  you  had  the  lieutenant  all  to  yourself," 
said  De  Monte,  with  a  smile. 

"Precisely,  until  Jute  informed  me  that 
Lucette  desired  my  presence.  I  was  on  my 
way  to  her  room  when  I  remembered  that 
you  were  waiting  for  me  here." 

"Listen,"  said  De  Monte,  "I  cannot  state 
exactly  how  long  I  may  be  detained  away. 
83 


Should  Lieutenant  Fielding  arrive  home 
sooner  than  I,  endeavor  to  keep  them  apart. 
You  will  be  working  for  your  own  interests 
as  well  as  mine.  Should  I  wish  to  com 
municate  with  you,  where  shall  I  address  my 
letters?" 

"We  had  better  not  carry  on  any  corre 
spondence  at  all.  Impart  every  detail  to  me 
on  my  return."  Suddenly  listening,  he  said, 
"I  thought  I  heard  a  rustling  among  those 
trees.  Probably  we  are  watched,"  resumed 
he  suspiciously. 

"Nonsense ;  'tis  the  wind,"  returned  Adele 
reassuringly. 

"I  wonder  if  Leigh,  the  old  secretary,  is 
prowling  about?  At  any  rate,  let  us  return 
to  the  house.  Most  likely  we  shall  be 
missed,"  said  he,  offering  her  his  arm. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  as  she  accepted  his 
arm.  "Lucette  awaits  me.  So  let  us  hurry," 
she  rejoined,  as  they  disappeared  through  the 
gloam. 


84 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

RODKRICK    DE   MONTE's   VOW 

The  lights  were  still  ablaze  in  the  cheerful 
living  room  as  Lncette  softly  entered,  ar 
rayed  in  a  blue  robe  of  silken  sheen.  Her 
mass  of  golden  curls  was  carelessly  looped 
in  a  soft  knot  which  did  not  fail  to  hide  the 
exquisite  shape  of  her  graceful,  snowy  neck. 
Gazing  around  the  room  with  a  surprised, 
bewildered  air,  she  exclaimed  aloud :  "De 
serted  !  No  one  here !  I  thought  I  would 
go  wild  waiting  alone  in  my  room.  Such  a 
strange  feeling  is  o'er  me  tonight — a  presenti 
ment  as  if  something  dreadful  was  going 
to  happen.  Oh,  Bertie !"  she  cried,  "Why 
must  you  leave  us  so  soon?  All  this  miser 
able  parting — just  on  my  account!  Dear  me! 
Dear  me !"  she  cried  with  a  burst  of  anguish, 
as  she  threw  herself  down  on  a  chair,  laying 
her  golden  head  on  her  dimpled  white  arm 
which  rested  on  the  table. 

The    door    opened    quietly    and    Lieutenant 

Fielding     entered.      Perceiving     Lucette     he 

quickly  approached.    Bending  gently  over  her 

bowed  head  he  patted  her  golden  curls,  say- 

85 


ing,  "Hello,  little  one ;  what  is  the  matter 
now?"  Lucette,  looking  up,  quickly  asked, 
"Oh,  is  it  really  you,  Bert?" 

"I  thought  I  was  to  be  deprived  of  the 
pleasure  of  your  company  this  evening,"  re 
turned  Lieutenant  Fielding. 

"I  had  a  headache,  but  it  has  passed." 

"Have  you  seen  Adele?"  the  lieutenant  in 
quired. 

"Indeed,  I  have  not.  I  became  very  tired 
waiting  for  her.  She  would  object  to  my 
leaving  the  room  at  any  rate." 

"Well,  you  are  here,"  said  he  caressingly. 
"I'm  perfectly  delighted,"  he  continued,  im 
parting  a  kiss  upon  her  snowy  brow.  "Now 
I  am  happy,"  said  he,  leading  her  to  the 
settee.  "Come  now,  dear ;  banish  that  sober 
look  from  your  sweet  little  face." 

"Bertie,"  she  remarked  seriously,  "do  you 
know  that  I  have  a  persentiment  that  some 
thing  dreadful  is  going  to  happen?" 

"Oh,  pshaw!  Drive  such  foolish  fancies 
away,"  said  he,  laughingly. 

"I  have  felt  so  queer  ever  since  that  gypsy 
woman  frightened  me  with  her  terrible 
prophecy." 

"A  gypsy?"  questioned  the  lieutenant,  sur 
prised. 

86 


"Yes;    I  shudder  to  recall  the  scene." 

"\Yell,  where  did  you  meet  a  gypsy?"  the 
lieutenant  asked,  amused. 

"She  came  here  to  our  home.  Much  to 
my  sorrow,  I  allowed  her  to  read  my  palm. 
She  predicted  such  a  fearful  future  for  me 
that  I  finished  by  falling  into  a  swoon,  and 
she  immediately  made  her  escape  by  jump 
ing  from  the  window,  all  trace  of  her  being 
lost.  Can  you  blame  me  in  the  least  for 
feeling  nervous  over  your  departure?" 

"Attach  no  significance  to  this  wandering 
ranter.  Forget  all  her  ramblings  for  my 
sake." 

"Well,  all  I  can  do  is  but  try,"  she  re 
sponded,  a  faint  smile  o'erspreading  her  de 
mure  little  face. 

"I  trust  we  may  return  home  safe  and 
promise  that  I  shall  never  close  my  eyes 
without  picturing  your  sweet  face  before 
me.  My  constant  thoughts  will  be  of  you, 
Lucette,"  said  he,  gently  embracing  her.  He 
then  arose  from  the  settee  as  the  door  sud 
denly  opened  and  Adele  swept  majestically 
toward  them. 

"Beg  pardon,"  she  said,  haughtily  bowing. 
Then  with  a  tinge  of  irony  in  her  voice  she 
exclaimed,  "You  here  after  all,  Lucette!" 
87 


"Yes,"  replied  Lucette,  "I  changed  my 
mind." 

Adele,  seating  herself  beside  Lucette  and 
glancing  at  the  lieutenant,  said,  "Whimsical, 
as  usual."  Then  laughing  lightly  she  re 
sumed,  "A  great  failing  of  Lucette's." 

"Good  evening,  folks,"  said  Roderick  De 
Monte,  leisurely  sauntering  into  the  room,  his 
large  eagle  eyes  resting  inquiringly  on  Adele. 

"I  thought  that  they  were  to  be  kept 
apart,"  commented  he  to  himself. 

"Sit  down,  Rod,  old  boy;  make  yourself 
comfortable!"  cried  the  lieutenant,  motioning 
to  an  easy  chair.  "Where  have  you  been?  It's 
high  time  you  came  out  of  your  shell." 

"Mr.  De  Monte  was  obliged  to  seek  solace 
in  the  moonlight,  owing  to  the  ladies  desert 
ing  him,"  said  Adele  quietly,  looking  at 
Lucette. 

"Accept  my  apology,"  murmured  Lucette, 
bowing. 

"Mine  also,"  said  Adele,  making  a  mock 
courtesy. 

"Ladies,  you  do  me  too  much  honor,"  said 
the  gallant  De  Monte,  nervously  rubbing  his 
hands  together. 

"I  see  you  are  enjoying  yourselves,"  re 
marked  Mr.  Fielding,  entering  the  room  and 
88 


joining  the  throng.  "That's  right ;  don't  let 
me  disturb  you.  Have  you  those  documents, 
Bert  ?"  he  inquired  of  the  lieutenant. 

"Yes,  father;  here  they  are.  The  papers 
you  mislaid,  concerning  the  water  right  to 
Lucette's  mine,"  said  the  lieutenant,  taking 
the  papers  from  his  coat  pocket  and  passing 
them  to  Mr.  Fielding. 

"Ah,  the  papers !"  repeated  De  Monte 
under  his  breath. 

"Thank  you,  my  son.  I  think  they  will  be 
safe  here,"  said  Mr.  Fielding,  placing  them 
in  his  inner  coat  pocket. 

"Strange  that  Girrade  could  not  have 
saved  us  all  this  unnecessary  trouble  by 
searching  the  records,"  thoughtfully  re 
marked  the  lieutenant. 

"That's  the  trouble,"  returned  Mr.  Fielding, 
"the  records  have  been  destroyed  and  the 
parties  who  have  taken  up  the  adjoining  claim 
take  advantage  of  the  situation.  These  papers 
are  of  great  value  to  me  at  the  present  time." 

"Those  papers  shall  be  in  my  possession," 
decided  De  Monte  to  himself,  as  a  sinister 
expression  passed  over  his  countenance. 

"Have  those  papers  recorded  as  soon  as 
possible,  dad,"  suggested  the  lieutenant  em 
phatically. 

89 


"Yes,  do !"  chimed  in  Lucette,  "else  the 
gypsy's  prophecy " 

"Hush !"  said  Lieutenant  Fielding,  holding 
up  a  warning  finger  to  silence  Lucette's  fur 
ther  information  on  the  subject. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Miss  Westly?"  asked 
De  Monte,  suddenly  becoming  interested. 

"Oh,"  said  Lieutenant  Fielding,  quickly  re 
plying  for  Lucette,  "the  little  one  here  has 
been  told  some  dreadful  nonsense  of  late." 

"By  whom,  pray?"  asked  Adele,  inno 
cently. 

"Surely,  you  all  witnessed  the  effect  it 
had  upon  me,"  replied  Lucette. 

"Ha,  ha,  I  understand,"  laughingly  re 
joined  Adele.  "You'll  not  want  your  for 
tune  told  again  in  a  hurry,  dear,"  she  said, 
patting  Lucette  upon  the  shoulder.  She 
then  arose  and  crossed  the  room. 

"Believe  me,  never,"  emphasized  Lu 
cette. 

"Where  did  this  gypsy  hail  from?"  asked 
the  lieutenant,  seating  himself  beside  Lu 
cette. 

"Hard  to  tell,"  replied  she,  with  a  deep 
sigh. 

"A  gypsy?"  questioned  De  Monte,  in 
quiringly. 

90 


"Yes,  it's  not  likely  she'll  venture  here 
again,"  responded  Lucette,  impatiently, 
rising. 

"A  gypsy  woman,  did  you  say?  What 
did  she  want?"  asked  De  Monte,  partaking 
of  a  small  cup  of  coffee  which  Jute  at 
that  moment  offered  him. 

"Pray  don't  ask  me.  I  am  only  too  happy 
to  forget  her,"  replied  Lucette,  with  a  shud 
der,  as  she  dropped  a  lump  of  sugar  into 
her  coffee  cup. 

"\Yho,  dat  gypsy?"  quickly  asked  Jute, 
who  was  .busily  engaged  in  arranging  the 
coffee  service.  "I'se  say  she  be  terrible. 
She  be  de  debbil's  twin." 

"Jute,  you  were  not  frightened  one  bit," 
said  Mr.  Fielding,  addressing  the  little 
black  midget. 

"Oh !  sure  massa,"  she  drawlingly  an 
swered,  in  a  mournful  voice,  and  nearly 
upsetting  a  steaming  cup  of  coffee  over 
Mr.  Fielding's  trousers. 

"She  jist  graved  her  image  on  dis  yer 
chile's  cranum  fo'  ebber." 

"Tell  us  about  it,  Jute,"  said  De  Monte, 
as  a  perplexed  expression  settled  on  his 
face. 

"She  hab  two  black  snak'y  eyes,  dat 
91 


when  she  looked  at  yo',  yo'  felt  lik'  a 
'lectric  battery  craulin'  down  yo'  back," 
described  Jute. 

"Exactly,"  sighed  Lucette. 

"Her  hair,"  continued  Jute,  "be  de  color 
ob  mine,  on'y  not " 

"So  curly,"  interrupted  Adele,  snicker 
ing. 

"Xo,"  Jute,  vehemently  replied,  "it  be 
straite  like  yo'  own,  when  yo'  forgit  to 
'rap  de  tea-lead  'round  it  ebery  night." 

"Little  viper,"  said  Adele  to  herself,  her 
face  turning  a  brilliant  scarlet. 

"Jute,"  said  Lucette,  reprovingly,  "I  am 
astonished." 

''The  negress'  description  goes  for  naught," 
thought  De  Monte  to  himself. 

"But  missy,"  humbly  said  Jute,  after  Lu- 
cett's  rebuke.  "What  scar'd  dis  chile  most 
was  de  long  red  mark  she  hed  on  her  arm." 
'Tis  Esperanza,"  said  De  Monte  to  him 
self,  his  breath  coming  fast,  his  bosom 
panting  with  suppressed  rage. 

"I'm  glad  I  didn't  see  the  red  mark  you 
speak  of,"  said  Lucette. 

"Mr.  Fielding,  you  should  guard  against 
those  vagrants,"  asserted  De  Monte  in  a 
demonstrative  tone. 

92 


"I  hardly  think  we  will  be  troubled  again 
by  that  class  in  the  future.  Come,  gentle 
men,  suppose  we  have  a  game  of  chess," 
said  Mr.  Fielding,  crossing  the  room  and 
preparing  the  table  for  the  game. 

"Massa,"  said  Jute,  edging  to  the  door, 
"yo*  jist  carry  a  box  ob  rat  biskit  to  hab 
on  han  fo'  dose  gypsies.  Den,  if  dey  be 
friens  wid  de  debbil,  he'll  sho'  dem  sym 
pathy  wile  dey  be  a  kickin'."  She  closed 
the  door  and  made  her  usual  exit  by  let 
ting  the  tray  fall  with  a  crash,  which  set 
everyone's  nerves  on  edge  in  the  adjoining 
room. 

"Jute's  a  case  sure,"  said  the  lieutenant, 
as  he  proceeded  to  start  the  game. 

"Her  tongue  will  certainly  get  her  into 
trouble  some  day,"  said  Adele,  snappishly, 
seating  herself. 

"Enjoy  your  game,  gentlemen,"  said  Lu- 
cette,  rising;  "we'll  not  disturb  you."  Placing 
a  footstool  at  Adele's  feet  and  seating  her 
self  upon  it,  she  glanced  over  at  the  gentlemen 
who  were  already  absorbed  in  their  game  of 
chess. 

"Jute  did  not  mean  to  be  saucy,  Adele," 
said  Lucette,  looking  up  into  her  govern 
ess'  face,  "I  shall  reprimand  her  when  we 
93 


are  alone.  Believe  me,  it  will  not  occur 
again." 

Adele  did  not  deign  to  answer,  but  bit 
her  lip  in  bitter  resentment. 

"The  pawns  are  moving,"  said  Mr.  Field 
ing,  interested  in  the  game. 

"What  a  pretty  rosebud,"  exclaimed  Lu- 
cette,  as  she  espied  the  bud  on  Adele's  cor 
sage. 

"Lovely,"  replied  Adele,  glancing  at  the 
bud  which  certainly  relieved  the  monotony 
of  her  dark  dress.  Then  to  herself  she  tri 
umphantly  said:  "I'm  so  glad  she  noticed  it." 

"Where  did  you  get  it,  if  I  may  ask. 
You  seldom  wear  a  rose." 

"The  lieutenant  gave   it  to  me." 

"Indeed,  when?"  asked  Lucette,  opening 
her  large  azure  eyes  with  intense  surprise. 

"The  game  is  looking  somewhat  con 
fused,  gentlemen.  Now  I  have  to  make  a 
careful  move,"  said  the  lieutenant  thought 
fully. 

"When?"  answered  Adele,  not  noticing  the 
lieutenant's  interruption.  "Why,  during  a 
brief  happy  hour  spent  with  the  lieutenant 
when  he  presented  me  with  this  token." 

"Things  are  looking  shady.  I  am  com- 
94 


pelled  to  make  this  move,"  said  DeMonte  to 
the  lieutenant. 

"The  rosebud  I  gave  him,"  sadly  said 
Lucette  to  herself. 

"It's  only  a  trifle  for  a  farewell,"  cried 
Adele  exultingly,  as  she  noticed  the  demure 
look  on  Lucette's  countenance. 

"  Ik-ware!  You  are  on  the  verge  of  losing 
your  knight,  my  son,"  anxiously  exclaimed 
Mr.  Fielding. 

"So  Lieutenant  Fielding  really  gave  that 
bud  to  you,"  asked  Lucette  hesitatingly. 

"If  you  doubt  my  word  the  lieutenant  will 
verify  it,"  sarcastically  answered  Adele. 

"Checkmated.  I'm  done  for — lost!"  cried 
Lieutenant  Fielding,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair. 

"Bertie  gave  her  the  rosebud  because  he 
thought  DeMonte's  flowers  were  acceptable 
to  me,"  said  Lucette  to  herself,  as  she  arose 
and  walked  over  to  the  chess  table. 

"She's  piqued,"  sneeringly  thought  Adele, 
as  her  glance  followed  Lucette  across  the 
room. 

\Yell,  gentlemen,  who  lost  the  game?"  in 
quired  Lucette. 

"I  did,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  lieutenant, 
95 


arising  and  lighting  a  cigar.     His  announce 
ment  was  greeted  by  a  peal  of  laughter. 

"He  always  shall  if  it  lies  in  my  power," 
said  DeMonte,  in  an  undertone  to  Adele. 

"I  suppose  you  will  have  to  leave  very 
early  in  the  morning  to  get  a  good  start  on 
your  journey,"  remarked  Lucette  to  Mr. 
Fielding. 

"Yes,  far  too  early  for  the  ladies  to  rise. 
Our  good  nights  must  now  be  said,"  he  an 
swered. 

"Good  night,  Massa  Feelin,"  said  Jute, 
whimpering.  "Good  night  Massa  Bert,  Fse 
hope  yo'  both  come  home  soon,"  said  she 
backing  toward  the  door,  "  'N,  Massa,  if  yo' 
come  across  a  coal  mine  in  dem  dar  diggins, 
jist  yo'  recomember  Jute — we  be  de  same 
color — two  ob  a  kind,"  she  sobbingly  cried. 
Then,  shaking  hands  with  all,  she  reluctantly 
passed  from  the  room. 

"Good  night  and  pleasant  dreams,"  said 
Lucette,  extending  her  hand  to  DeMonte. 

"Pardon,  Miss  Westly,  one  who  dares  to 
dream  of  thee,"  murmured  DeMonte,  press 
ing  her  little  dimpled  hand  to  his  lips. 

"Such    impertinence,"    declared    Lucette   to 
herself,    quickly    withdrawing    her    hand    and 
turning  away  from  his  leering  gaze. 
96 


"Remember  my  instructions,"  DeMonte 
cautiously  whispered  to  Adele,  who  at  that 
instant  happened  to  stand  near  him. 

"Good  night,  Bertie,"  softly  said  Lucette. 
gazing  frankly  into  the  lieutenant's  handsome 
sad  face. 

"Good  night  and  God  bless  you,  and  send 
you  and  Papa  Fielding  home  safe." 

"My  darling,"  he  whispered,  bending  low 
and  kissing  Lucette's  hand  fervently.  Turning 
quickly  to  Mr.  Fielding,  Lucette  leaned  her 
head  upon  his  shoulder,  trying  to  stay  the 
tears  that  came  coursing  down  her  cheek,  and 
in  a  choking  voice  cried :  "Oh,  Papa  Field 
ing,  my  heart  is  just  breaking." 

"Come,  come,  Lucette,  you  unnerve  me. 
\Ve  are  not  going  away  forever.  Cheer  up,  my 
pet,  we  shall  be  back  before  you  have  time 
to  miss  us.  Eh,  my  boy,"  said  he  arresting 
the  lieutenant's  attention. 

"Of  course  we  will,"  assuringly  replied  the 
lieutenant,  endeavoring  to  be  cheerful.  "Now, 
Adele,  you  must  try  and  cheer  Lucette  up  a 
bit." 

"You  may  depend  upon  me,  sir.    A  pleasant 
journey  to  you,  Mr.  Fielding."  she  graciously 
said,   extending  him   her  hand.   Then   archly, 
97 


looking  at  the  lieutenant,  said :  "The  time  will 
seem  long  until  we  meet  again." 

"Oh,  thanks.  You  are  very  kind,"  said  he, 
bowing  to  Adele. 

"Come,  Lucette,"  as  she  parted  the  cur 
tains  of  the  arched  doorway  for  Lucette  to 
precede  her.  Lucette  hesitated  for  an  instant, 
then  throwing  her  arms  around  Mr.  Fielding's 
neck  she  embraced  him.  Bowing  to  the  lieu 
tenant  and  DeMonte,  both  of  whom  kissed 
their  hand  to  her,  she  passed  from  their  view, 
followed  by  Adele  through  the  parted  por- 
tiers. 

"I  had  no  idea  Lucette  would  take  our 
journey  so  much  to  heart,"  sorrowfully  com 
mented  Mr.  Fielding. 

"Miss  Lucette  is  certainly  attached  to  you. 
Any  man  might  envy  you." 

"I  would  lose  my  life  for  her,"  said  Mr. 
Fielding,  looking  DeMonte  full  in  the  face. 

"Any  man  might  where  she  is  concerned," 
returned  DeMonte. 

"By  Jove,  midnight !  It  is  time  to  retire. 
We  have  only  a  few  hours  for  rest  before  we 
will  have  to  be  on  the  wing,"  said  the  lieu 
tenant,  as  the  old  Mission  clock  finished 
striking  twelve.  "By  the  way,  do  we  stop 
over  for  a  day  at  the  Summit,  father?" 
98 


"Yes,  it  will  make  us  arrive  one  day  later 
at  the  mine,  but  I  must  see  Chesterfield." 

"One  day  in  advance  of  them,"  excitedly 
thought  DeMonte  to  himself  as  he  paid  par 
ticular  attention  to  the  plan  which  Mr.  Field 
ing  had  just  announced. 

"Come,  'Rod,'  old  chum,  join  us  in  a  night 
cap,"  invitingly  cried  the  lieutenant,  pouring 
out  some  brandy 

"A  safe  trip,  gentlemen,"  said  DeMonte, 
tilting  and  then  draining  his  glass.  "Good 
night,"  he  resumed  abruptly. 

"I'll  follow  suit,  dad,  and  have  you  up  at 
daybreak,"  said  the  lieutenant,  affectionately 
laying  his  hand  on  his  father's  shoulder,  then 
followed  in  the  footsteps  of  DeMonte. 

"How  my  heart  aches  tonight,"  sorrow 
fully  said  Mr.  Fielding  aloud.  Directing  his 
steps  toward  a  small  door  he  paused  a  mo 
ment  before  entering.  Continuing,  "Lucette, 
why  have  you  unnerved  me?  Poor  child, 
poor  child."  He  opened  the  door  and  retired 
to  an  inner  room  to  rest. 


99 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  BLOW 

It  was  a  little  past  midnight  as  Leigh  en 
tered  the  sitting  room.  "Evidently  all  have 
retired,"  said  he  to  himself.  Crossing  over  to 
the  table,  he  began  a  search  which  resulted 
in  the  finding  of  a  bunch  of  keys  which  he 
had  previously  left  there. 

"Ah !  Here  are  the  keys,  exactly  where  I 
left  them.  I  don't  think  it  will  be  possible 
for  me  to  sleep  the  sleep  of  the  just,  so  long 
as  Roderick  DeMonte  is  under  this  roof.  I 
don't  like  him,  and  Leigh,  old  boy,  your  in 
stinct  was  never  wrong  yet,"  he  acknowledged 
to  himself.  "Ah !"  he  exclaimed  aloud  strik 
ing  a  listening  attitude,  as  a  footstep  made 
audible  by  the  crushing  of  the  dry  October 
leaves  that  fell  on  the  garden  path  met  his 
ear.  He  quickly  turned  off  the  light,  parted 
the  curtains  and  gazed  out  through  the  open 
window. 

"A  man  crossing  through  the  shrubberies.  It 
is  Roderick  DeMonte.  Where  can  he  be  go 
ing  in  that  direction  at  this  unseemly  hour 
of  the  night?  I'll  find  out,"  thought  he. 
100 


Quickly  suiting  the  action  to  his  thought, 
he  hastily  left  the  room  and  went  out  into  the 
night. 

"Long  past  midnight,  and  still  not  in 
clined  to  sleep.  My  brain  is  on  fire,"  ex 
claimed  DeMonte  aloud  as  he  strolled 
through  the  Fielding  grounds.  "Little  do 
they  suspect  that  I  hold  an  interest  in  the 
claim  adjoining  the  Lucette  Mine.  I  am 
over  anxious  to  possess  their  water  right. 
Now  to  obtain  and  then  destroy  the  papers 
that  are  now  in  Mr.  Fielding's  possession. 
I  have  made  up  my  mind  the  course  to 
pursue.  One  man  s  word  is  as  good  as  an 
other's.  A  rich  mine  in  my  possession  and 
then — to  woo  and  win  the  fair  Lucette.  My 
gypsy  love,"  he  soliloquized,  "I  shall  en 
deavor  to  see  but  once  again.  Shall  I  be  re 
ceived  with  kisses  or  curses' — either  will  be 
alike  to  me  now,  since  I  have  learned  to 
love  Lucette."  Then,  with  a  mad  fury  rush 
ing  through  his  brain,  he  cried  aloud:  "I'd 
sink  my  soul  in  perdition  for  her  sweet  sake. 
She  holds  -full  power  to  make  an  angel  or 
a  demon  of  me,  which — "You  are,"  said 
Larry  Leigh,  bravely  confronting  him. 

"Stand  back !  \Yho  are  you  ?"  returned 
DeMonte,  startled  as  Leigh  flashed  a  lantern 
101 


in  his  face.  "Yon,"  cried  DeMonte,  recog 
nizing  Leigh,  his  face  turning  livid  with 
suppressed  rage.  "What  means  this  insult, 
wretch  ?" 

"That  you  had  better  not  utter  your 
thoughts  aloud.  It's  liable  to  give  one  the 
impression  that  you  are  plotting  mischief," 
said  Leigh,  bestowing  upon  him  a  keen,  pen 
etrating  look. 

"Ha!  Ha!"  sneeringly  laughed  DeMonte. 
"Strange — a  guest  of  Mr.  Fielding's  cannot 
amuse  himself  by  indulging  in  a  moonlight 
rehearsal  of  a  favorite  scene  without  being 
insulted  by  a  mere  hireling.  Were  Mr.  Field 
ing  to  know  of  this,  menial,  your  position 
would  be  at  stake." 

"And  you  dare  not  tell  him.  Your  honor 
would  be  at  stake,"  he  gallantly  returned. 

"Could  he  have  overheard  all?"  thought 
DeMonte,  biting  his  bloodless  lips.  Then  he 
made  an  effort  to  pass  Leigh,  and,  thwarted 
in  this,  he  venomously  cried :  "Enough,  dog, 
allow  me  to  pass.  You  shall  suffer  for  this," 
he  resumed,  threateningly. 

"Not  until  you  hear  what   I  have  to  say. 

Remember,  you   are  a  guest   here  and  have 

been  treated  courteously,  but  when  you   un- 

derhandedly    aspire    for    the    love    of    Miss 

102 


Westly,  you  are  acting  the  part  of  a  traitor. 
You  are  trying  to  rob  your  benefactor,  Lieu 
tenant  Fielding,  of  a  jewel  (Lticette  Westly), 
who  is  as  far  above  you  as  the  stars  are  the 
earth." 

"}'on  dare  accuse  me  of  being  a  traitor 
to  one  of  this  household,"  hotly  retored  De- 
Monte,  making  a  vicious  move  toward  Leigh. 
"Scoundrel!  Take  back  your  words,"  he 
cried  in  a  furious  manner. 

"Xever,"  answered  Leigh,  defiantly. 

"Liar!  Hireling!"  cried  DeMonte,  pale 
with  rage  as  his  uplifted  heavy  cane  was 
about  to  descend  on  Leigh's  head. 

"Villain — take  that,"  cried  Leigh,  as  he 
dashed  the  cane  from  DeMonte's  hand  and 
struck  him  a  severe  blow  with  his  fist  which 
felled  him  to  the  ground. 


103 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
ESPERANZA'S  MOUNTAIN  HUT 

The  winter's  storm  raged  through  the 
rugged  canyon.  The  frequent  peals  of 
thunder  seemed  to  split  the  surrounding 
mountains  asunder,  and  the  lightning  which 
flashed  incessantly  illuminated  the  destruc 
tion  of  the  tempest's  mad  fury.  The  storm 
abated  for  a  moment  as  the  pale  tear-stained 
face  of  a  woman  peered  anxiously  from  the 
window  of  a  rough  hut  which  was  situated 
in  the  heart  of  the  canyon.  Again  and 
again,  anxiously  was  the  face  pressed  against 
the  pane  of  glass  only  to  be  driven  back  by 
the  wild  hurricane  in  its  renewed  fury — 
driven  back — to  contemplate  with  anguish  the 
misery  that  was  apparent  in  the  room  of  that 
roughly  furnished  hut. 

Kneeling  beside  a  pallet,  which  was  covered 
with  some  dry  skins,  crouched  the  form  of  the 
sad,  pale-faced  woman,  bowed  in  grief.  Sud 
denly  raising  her  head,  she  bent  over  the 
pallet  and  lightly  kissed  the  brow  of  a  slum 
bering  child.  "Sleep,  sweet  babe,"  she  gently 
murmured,  gazing  with  soulful  intensity  at 
104 


the  child.  "Sleep  the  blessed  sleep  that  shall 
prove  a  balm  for  thy  malady." 

"What  a  terrible  storm,"  she  cried,  shud 
dering  as  a  flash  of  lightning  and  a  crash  of 
thunder  rent  the  air.  "Alas !  My  poor  ailing 
darling,"  she  mournfully  cried,  as  the  child 
awoke  and  piteously  moaned.  "Thou  art  nigh 
unto  death,  my  babe." 

"Oh,  Roderick,  father  of  my  child,  why 
doth  thou  linger?  Oh,  my  babe,  thou  must 
not  die,"  she  frantically  cried,  as  she  bent 
over  the  little  one  caressingly.  "Thou  must 
not  die,  thou  must  live,"  she  cried  pathetic 
ally.  "I  ive  to  kiss  thy  father's  lips ;  to  smile 
upon  his  face ;  to  receive  his  blessing.  Howl 
ye  winds,"  she  cried  fearlessly,  as  the  hut 
creaked  and  rocked  with  the  velocity  of  the 
tempest's  fury.  "Doth  thou  wail  tidings  of 
my  babe's  death?"  A  loud  peal  of  thunder 
with  a  diabolical  crash  seemed  to  answer. 
"That  unearthly  sound,"  she  cried,  clutching 
the  scant  shawl  that  meagerly  covered  her 
shoulders.  "Is  it  a  warning?"  she  tremblingly 
cried.  "Hark !  The  coyotes.  'Tis  their  mourn 
ful  wail,  driven  wild  by  cold  and  hunger. 
Do  they  scent  death?  No,  my  babe,"  she  wild 
ly  cried,  "naught  shall  tear  thee  from  thy 
mother's  breast,"  she  frantically  knelt  beside 
105 


the  sick  child  and  buried  her  head  in  her 
hands. 

She  was  suddenly  aroused  by  a  loud  knock 
at  the  door  and  a  voice  cried  out:  "Let  me 
in  !  Let  me  in  !" 

"Some  one  in  distress,"  she  cried  excitedly, 
as  she  proceeded  to  unbar  the  door. 

"Roderick !  Thou  ?"  she  cried,  overwhelmed 
with  surprise,  as  DeMonte  entered  the  hut 
covered  with  drifting  snow.  "My  love,  my 
life!  Roderick,  welcome  to  the  gypsy's  hut." 
she  pathetically  cried,  endeavoring  to  embrace 
him. 

"I  came  nigh  losing  my  way,"  said  he  in 
a  hoarse  voice,  frowning.  And,  casting  his 
wet  coat  aside,  "I  called  out  several  times," 
resumed  he,  seating  himself  on  a  rude  bench. 

'Twas  thy  cry  I  heard  in  the  distance,  Rod 
erick,  clearest,"  she  caressingly  said,  as  she 
knelt  down  by  his  side.  "Thou  art  welcome 
home,"  she  resumed,  her  large,  luminous  eyes 
burning  with  love,  looking  upon  his  stern,  cold 
face.  "How  lonely  I  have  been " 

"Come!  Come,  Esperanza,"  he  said,  ill  at 
ease.  "I  am  nearly  frozen  and  completely 
famished."  Rising  quickly,  she  imparted  a 
kiss  on  his  cheek. 

"How  selfish  I  am,  dearest,"  she  said, 
106 


crossing  to  the  cupboard,  procuring  and  then 
arranging  some  viands  on  the  table.  "For 
give  me.  I  forgot  everything,  enraptured  by 
thy  presence.  Thou  art  hungry — thou  shalt 
eat.  Thou  are  cold — there  is  the  warm  fire," 
she  happily  said,  picking  up  and  throwing  in 
an  extra  log. 

"How  unprepared  she  will  be  to  receive 
the  blow,"  thought  DeMonte,  as  he  silently 
gazed  upon  her  as  she  was  trying  to  fan 
the  dying  flame. 

"Thy  supper  I  have  prepared,  love,"  she 
eagerly  said,  crossing  over  to  the  table.  "Now 
eat  of  it,"  she  pleasantly  resumed,  nodding 
her  head  and  lifting  up  his  drenched  coat, 
she  affectionately  kissed  it  before  she  hung 
it  up  to  dry. 

"The  food  chokes  me,"  said  DeMonte 
doggedly,  after  he  had  partaken  of  a  couple 
of  mouthfuls,  then  taking  a  small  flask  from 
his  pocket,  he  said,  "This  is  what  fires  one's 
brain."  He  placed  the  flask  to  his  lips,  drained 
it  and  then  threw  it  heavily  upon  the  table, 
where  it  fell  with  a  crash. 

"Why,  Roderick,  doth  thou  act  so  strange?" 

anxiously      questioned      Esperanza,      rushing 

quickly  to  his  side.     Then  kneeling  down,  her 

pale  face  uplifted  to  his  in  surprise,  she  placed 

107 


her  arms  lovingly  about  his  neck,  murmuring; 
"Art  thou  troubled,  Roderick?" 

"Troubled,"  he  replied,  rising  and  casting 
her  ruthlessly  aside.  "Yes,  better  know  the 
truth  at  once,  Esperanza,"  he  said,  looking 
at  her  defiantly,  "we  must  part." 

"No !  No !"  she  wildly  cried,  desperately 
clinging  to  him  and  tearfully  pleading.  "Un 
say  those  cruel,  cruel  words." 

"Enough,"  he  replied  sternly,  unclasping 
her  arms  and  casting  her  aside.  "Under 
stand — it  must  be  forever." 

"Forever?  We  part  forever?"  repeated 
Esperanza.  in  a  dazed,  bewildered  tone. 
"Roderick,"  she  cried  imploringly,  rushing 
to  his  side  and  clasping  his  hand.  "My  love, 
my  life,  we  cannot  part!  Cruel  words — I  do 
but  dream.  Thou  can'st  not  mean  it,  mine 
own,"  she  pathetically  pleaded,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  sobbing  bitterly. 

"Listen,  woman,"  cried  DeMonte,  grasp 
ing  her  roughly  by  the  arm.  "You  do  not 
dream.  Neither  do  I  jest.  I  repeat  again," 
said  he,  as  he  loosened  her  grasp,  and  flung 
her  aside,  "what  your  blind  love  for  me 
fails  to  see,  I  have  ceased  to  care  for  you," 
108 


said  he  coolly,  lighting-  a  cigarette,  "and  hare 
for  sometime  past." 

"Oh,  Roderick,"  she  shrieked  wildly.  "Such 
words  from  thee — who  hath  sworn  to  love 
me.  They  pierce  like  a  stilletto  sent  to  my 
heart.  Doth  thon  love  another?  Maybe — one 
who  would'st  not  consent  to  become  thy 
slave  as  I  have  been,"  she  bitterly  cried, 
sinking  with  sheer  exhaustion  into  a  chair, 
she  sobbingly  continued,  "Now  thy  wish  is 
to  cast  me  aside." 

"Be  thankful  I  deign  to  inform  you  of  it 
at  all.  This  wild  love,"  said  he,  striking 
the  table  a  furious  blow,  "must  cease." 

"Cease !  Cease !"  breathlessly  panted  Es- 
peranza,  as  she  slowly  arose,  trembling  visi 
bly,  her  gazelle-like  eyes  dimmed  with  un 
restrained  tears.  "Cease — yes,  when  my  lips 
refuse  to  utter  my  love ;  when  my  heart  that 
bounded  at  thy  footstep  beats  no  longer ; 
when  mine  eyes,  which  behold  thy  being 
are  closed  forever ;  when  my  form  which 
thou  hast  robbed  of  its  honor,  be  lifeless  and 
cold — then — and  only  then — will  my  love 
cease." 

"Esperanza,  listen  to  reason.  Nearly  all 
women  overestimate  man's  affection.  When 
guilty  of  this  error,  it  seldom  if  ever  termin- 
109 


ates  well.  Women  should  believe  about  one- 
tenth  of  man's  proffered  affection.  One- 
hundredth  part  of  aught  he  may  swear.  Wo 
men  are  to  be  pitied,  who,  fully  believing 
in  man's  love,  yield  their  honor  readily.  Sel 
dom  if  ever  we  care  to  make  such  women 
our  wives.  I  hope,  Esperanza,  you  may  now 
understand  why  it  becomes  necessary  for 
us  to  part." 

"Roderick,  for  heaven's  sake  spare  me," 
she  imploringly  cried,  sinking  on  her  knees 
beside  the  pallet.  "Spare  me,"  she  pleaded, 
"If  not  your  wife  I  am  the  mother  of  your 
child."  Pulling  back  the  curtain  that  sur 
rounded  the  pallet,  she  revealed  to  his  gaze 
the  unconscious  form  of  the  ailing  child. 

"Perdition!  The  child  lives — my  child?" 
he  cried  in  horror. 

"Dare  you  doubt  it?"  exultingly  asked  the 
gypsy,  as  she  raised  the  child's  bare  arm  on 
which  a  long  red  mark  was  plainly  visible. 
"This  arm  bears  the  proof  of  the  treachery 
practiced  upon  the  mother,"  she  said,  giv 
ing  him  a  keen,  flashing  look. 

"Woman,  what  do  you  mean  to  infer?" 

Without  immediately  answering «DeMonte, 
she  slowly  rolled  up  the  sleeve  of  her  blouse 
and  exhibited  her  arm  on  which  was  a  deep 
110 


red  scar.  "This  arm,"  she  continued,  "re 
ceived  the  thrust  of  the  knife  which  was  in 
tended  to  pierce  the  heart  of  the  mother  and 
unborn  babe.  Better  had  the  assassin's 
cowardly  blow  proved  fatal.  It  would  have 
saved  my  heart  from  the  torture  now  of 
knowing  that  I  have  loved — yes — loved  in 
vain." 

"Evidently  you  accuse  me  of  having  tried 
to  assassinate  you,"  he  sneeringly  remarked. 

"Dare  you  deny  it?"  she  asked  undaunted. 

"Would  that  I  had  killed  her,"  he  said 
under  his  breath.  Then  with  a  leer  on  his 
swarthy  face,  he  ventured  to  remark,  "I 
deny  or  affirm  nothing.  Your  gypsy  pro 
pensities  of  reading  the  past  and  future 
should  save  you  from  asking  such  foolish 
questions,  but  I  swear  Esperanza " 

"Hold,"  she  cried,  interrupting  him.  "Per 
jure  your  soul  no  more.  Ah,  yes,"  a  gleam 
of  cunning  flashing  from  her  eyes,  she  re 
sumed.  "Women  should  believe  one-tenth 
of  man's  proffered  affection.  One-hundredth 
part  of  aught  he  may  swear.  See,  I  have 
learned  your  lesson  readily,  never  to  be  for 
gotten.  Oh,  my  babe,"  she  frantically  cried, 
as  the  child  on  the  pallet  gave  a  slight  moan, 
"How  can'st  I  relieve  thy  suffering?  Thou 
111 


art  chilled.  Thou  art  growing  cold.  Thine 
eyes,"  she  wildly  cried,  raising  the  child's 
head  lovingly  and  clasping  it  to  her  breast. 
"How  they  stare  !  How  glassy !  Be  merciful, 
Roderick,"  she  passionately  pleaded.  "Look! 
look  once  upon  the  face  of  thy  child  e're  its 
eyes  are  closed  in  death." 

"You  request  an  assassin  to  gaze  upon 
your  innocent  child?"  he  sneeringly  asked. 

"Have  pity,"  she  shrieked,  as  the  little 
inanimate  form  gasped.  "Too  late!  Too  late! 
Death  hast  claimed  thee,  mine  own,"  she 
pathetically  cried,  wringing  her  hands,  and 
with  a  wild  burst  of  agonized  grief,  she  fell 
prostrate  over  the  lifeless  child. 

"The  child  dead?"  gasped  DeMonte,  mak 
ing  a  feeble  attempt  to  look  at  it.  "No,  I 
cannot,"  said  he,  turning  away.  "That  face 
would  haunt  me  forever."  Taking  his  coat, 
and  then  walking  to  the  door,  he  said  in  a 
hoarse  voice :  "Esperanza,  I  go,  cursing  my 
self  and  you  alike.  Farewell  forever."  He 
opened  the  door  of  the  hut  and  rushed  out 
into  the  blinding  storm. 

Raising  her  head  wearily  Esperanza  in  a 
dazed  voice  pitifully  called:  "Roderick,  Rod 
erick!  Gone!  Oh,  God,  I  have  been  deserted 
by  father  and  child.  What  have  I  to  live  for 
112 


now?  Why  not  end  this  misery  at  once," 
she  pantingly  cried,  grasping  a  stilletto  from 
her  belt.  Gazing  at  the  lifeless  little  form  she 
shuddered,  and,  letting  the  stilletto  drop  from 
her  hand,  in  an  agonized  voice  cried:  "No. 
I  must  not.  I  must  live,"  a  dangerous  light 
creeping  into  her  magnetic  eyes.  "Live,  to 
seek  that  soothing  balm  so  cooling  to  the 
gypsy's  blood — REVENGE.  "Here  (she  cried 
kneeling  by  the  side  of  the  pallet)  over  the 
dead  body  of  my  child,  I  swear  it."  Rising, 
she  continued  wrathfully.  "Go,  Roderick  De- 
Monte,  but  we  shall  meet  again.  Vengeance 
shall  fall  as  unrelentingly  upon  thy  head  as 
the  storm  now  is  bursting  upon  the  moun 
tains.  Let  the  tempest  roar,"  she  cried,  as  a 
peal  of  thunder  vibrated  through  the  moun 
tain  canyon.  "Howl,  ye  winds.  Louder, 
louder !"  she  excitedly  cried,  her  eyes  flash 
ing  and  a  feverish  glow  now  o'erspreading 
her  dusky  face.  "Proclaim  my  vengeance  and 
forget  not  in  thy  mad  fury  to  chant  a 
requiem  for  my  babe."  With  a  heart-rending 
sob  she  fell,  grief  stricken,  beside  the  body  of 
her  child. 


113 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    MURDER 

The  afternoon's  sun  was  bravely  struggling 
to  lavish  its  last  sickly  rays  o'er  the  magnifi 
cent  crests  and  valleys  of  the  glorious  Sier 
ras.  The  clouds  were  gathering  and  the  chill 
in  the  air  penetrated  keenly  through  the 
thick  coat  which  Mr.  Fielding  had  buttoned 
tightly  around  himself  as  he  descended  a 
mountain  trail  which  led  to  a  cabin  situated 
in  close  proximity  to  the  Lucette  Mine.  Lieu 
tenant  Fielding  (his  son)  was  walking  a 
short  distance  behind  carrying  two  light  grips. 
As  the  lieutenant  caught  up  with  him,  Mr. 
Fielding  joyously  sang  out:  "Well,  Bert, 
here  we  are  at  last." 

"It  is  strange  that  Girrade  failed  to  meet 
us."  replied  the  lieutenant.  "I'm  sure  he'll 
lose  no  time,  though,  in  following  our  foot 
steps." 

"Very  likely.  Now  for  the  cabin,"  said  Mr. 
Fielding,  trying  to  open  the  door.  "I  feel 
quite  fatigued.  Tramping  over  a  rough 
mountain  trail  at  my  time  of  life  does  not 
agree  with  me." 

114 


"That's  so,  dad,"  answered  the  lieutenant, 
following  his  father  into  the  cabin.  "This  old 
shelter  has  held  an  occupant  very  recently," 
said  he,  gazing  curiously  around.  "Probably 
Girrade  himself.  I'm  hungry,"  said  the  lieu 
tenant,  taking  a  bottle  from  off  the  table. 
"A  bonanza — brandy  sure,"  said  he  smelling 
its  contents.  "Glance  at  the  table,  dad," 
said  he,  drawing  Mr.  Fielding's  attention 
to  the  well-spread  table.  "Cold  venison,  beans 
and  biscuits.  Girrade  evidently  expected  us. 
Sit  down,  father,  the  table  looks  tempting  to 
two  hungry  travelers.  Doesn't  it?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  This  trip  has  sharpened  my 
appetite,"  said  Mr.  Fielding,  as  he  sat  down 
and  filled  his  glass  from  the  bottle  of  brandy. 

"Well,  I  wish  it  could  sharpen  this  knife," 
said  the  lieutenant,  trying  to  cut  a  piece  of 
venison.  "Here,  Jute." 

"Ah,  my  boy,  I  see  your  thoughts  are  of 
home,"  said  Mr.  Fielding,  sighing. 

'You've  hit  the  mark,  dad.  I  just  wonder 
how  Lucette  is  getting  along?" 

"Grieving  herself  to  death  by  imagining  us 
devoured  by  wild  beasts." 

"Foolish  child,"  said  the  lieutenant,  tilting 
back  in  his  chair.  "As  I  live,"  he  exclaimed, 
someone  must  have  shot  a  bear  recently." 
115 


Then  leaving  the  table  he  walked  over  and 
examined  a  skin  that  was  hanging  on  the  wall 
to  dry.  "I  wonder  who's  the  lucky  hunts 
man  ?" 

"Girrade  boasts  of  being  a  fine  shot.  Per 
haps  it  was  he,"  replied  Mr.  Fielding,  yawn 
ing. 

"Great  boy,  I  would  like  to  join  him  on 
one  of  his  hunting  expeditions." 

"Look!  There  stands  a  rifle  and  a  shot 
gun,"  said  Mr.  Fielding,  pointing  to  one  cor 
ner  of  the  cabin. 

"Let's  see,"  said  the  lieutenant,  examining 
the  gun.  "The  shotgun  is  loaded.  Say,  dad, 
I  noticed  a  fine  bevy  of  quail  down  the  road. 
I'm  going  out  to  try  my  skill  for  an  hour  or 
so,  that  is,  if  you  don't  object  to  being  left 
alone,  father.  Now,  to  scare  up  ammunition. 
Ah,  here  is  some,"  joyfully  said  he,  as  he 
discovered  a  box  of  loaded  shells  on  a  small 
shelf  situated  above  the  table.  "Well,  I'm 
off,  dad,"  said  he,  as  he  shouldered  his  gun. 
Pausing  at  the  door,  he  continued :  "I'll  soon 
return." 

"Enjoy    your    sport,"    said    Mr.    Fielding, 

watching    him    depart.       "Girrade    is    likely 

to   arrive   here   at   any   moment.      Keep    well 

upon  the  trail.     Good  luck  to  you,  my  boy," 

116 


he  said,  as  the  lieutenant  ran  up  the  moun 
tain  trail.  "Patience,  but  this  tramp  has 
tired  me  out.  I'll  throw  myself  down  and 
take  a  short  nap  during  Bert's  absence.  In 
case  of  an  intrusion  I'll  bolt  the  door," 
thought  Mr.  Fielding.  "Now,  then,"  said  he, 
yawning,  "for  a  nap."  Throwing  himself 
down  upon  the  rude  cot,  he  soon  fell  asleep. 

Scarcely  had  the  door  closed  upon  Mr. 
Fielding  when  Roderick  DeMonte  stealthy 
came  from  behind  a  large  boulder.  Gazing  up 
the  trail  in  the  direction  Lieutenant  Fielding 
had  taken,  he  watched  intently  the  lieuten 
ant's  receding  form — watched  it  until  it  ap 
peared  indistinct  in  the  distance. 

"Alone!  Alone  at  last,"  he  exultingly  ex 
claimed.  "Now  is  my  time  to  secure  the 
papers,"  he  said  to  himself,  cautiously  trying 
the  door.  "Locked,"  he  muttered,  as  the 
door  did  not  yield  to  his  strenuous  efforts. 
"Shall  I  be  foiled?"  Then  holding  his  ear 
closely  to  the  keyhole,  he  listened  breathlessly 
to  the  deep  breathing  within.  "He  sleeps. 
I'll  try  the  window."  Cautiously  walking 
around  the  cabin  he  easily  opened  the  win 
dow,  crawled  in  and  crept  softly  toward  the 
sleeping  man,  listening  occasionally  to  make 
sure  that  his  sleep  was  profound,  he  stooped 
117 


and  quickly  opened  a  grip  that  he  perceived 
lying  on  the  floor.  Examining  it  quickly,  he 
muttered  disgustedly,  "Nothing  there,  except 
this,"  picking  up  a  stilletto.  At  that  instant 
the  sleeping  man  gave  a  slight  moan.  Grasp 
ing  the  hilt  of  the  newly  found  stilletto  in  his 
hand,  he  peered  intently  at  the  sleeping  vic 
tim.  "Another  move  and  I'll  drive  this  to 
your  heart."  Reassuring  himself  that  Mr. 
Fielding  was  in  a  deep  stupor,  he  bent  down 
again  and  continued  his  search  in  the  second 
grip  that  happened  to  be  lying  wide  open. 
His  dark  eagle  eye  alighted  on  a  small  pistol 
that  was  lying  in  full  view.  Picking  it  up 
and  examining  it,  he  held  it  toward  the  dying 
light  and  read  the  engraved  name  upon  it — 
LIEUTENANT  A.  FIELDING.  "My  friend, 
you  are  doomed,"  said  he,  putting  the  pistol 
in  his  back  pocket.  The  papers  I  seek  may  be 
concealed  here,"  thought  he,  stooping  over 
Mr.  Fielding's  body.  His  wicked  gaze 
seemed  to  disturb  the  sleep  of  the  helpless 
man.  for  he  restlessly  murmured,  "MY  SON, 
GOD  BLESS  YOU."  DeMonte,  observing 
Mr.  Fielding's  restless  slumber,  quickly  con 
cealed  his  face  with  his  black  silk  muffler,  as 
Mr.  Fielding  opened  his  eyes.  "Who  are 
you  ?  What  do  ~you  want  ?"  exclaimed  the 
118 


sleep-dazed  man.  "Your  papers,  quick,"  de 
manded  DeMonte,  endeavoring  to  disguise 
his  voice. 

"Never,"  cried  Mr.  Fielding,  suddenly 
awakened.  Instantly  the  two  men  clinched, 
and  in  the  fierce  struggle  between  them,  De- 
Monte  accidentally  dropped  the  stilletto,  and 
in  his  endeavor  to  regain  it,  the  impromptu 
mask,  which  had  concealed  his  face,  be 
came  displaced,  then  in  an  accent  of  sur 
prised  horror,  Mr.  Fielding,  recognizing  De- 
Monte,  cried  out,  "YOU?" 

DeMonte  uttered  not  a  word,  but  instantly 
drawing  the  lieutenant's  pistol  from  his 
pocket,  took  aim  and  fired. 

"MURDER— MUR— "  cried  Mr.  Field 
ing  reeling,  he  fell  prone  upon  the  floor. 

DeMonte,  gazing  at  his  victim  lying  at 
his  feet,  instantly  began  a  search  of  the  life 
less  form  of  Mr.  Fielding.  "Now,  for  the 
papers.  Then  to  escape,"  said  he  anxiously. 
"Luck  favors  me.  Here  they  are."  Quickly 
obtaining  some  papers  from  the  body  of  Mr. 
Fielding,  he  agitatedly  transferred  them  into 
his  own  pocket.  "This  little  toy,  removing 
the  pistol  from  his  pocket,  "I  shall  throw 
by  the  wayside,  where,  if  found,  can  be 
brought  in  evidence  against  Lieutenant 
119 


Fielding."  Casting  a  look  at  the  prostrate 
form,  he  shuddered  as  he  unbolted  the  door. 
Rushing  out,  pistol  in  hand,  he  confronted 
Lieutenant  Fielding,  who  was  about  to  enter 
the  cabin. 

"Roderick !"  cried  the  lieutenant,  starting 
back  amazed.  You  here?  What  means  this 
agitation?"  excitedly  questioned  the  lieu 
tenant  raising  his  gun.  "It  means,"  replied 
DeMonte  wildly  rushing  upon  the  lieutenant 
and  knocking  the  gun  from  his  hands.  "It 
means  dog — you  die,  rather  than  thwart  my 
plans."  he  then,  with  an  angry  curse  sent  a 
bullet  through  the  shoulder  of  the  gallant 
lieutenant.  "Father!  Help!  Help!"  gasped 
the  lieutenant,  then  all  was  still,  as  his  body, 
with  a  heavy  thud,  fell  to  the  ground. 

"DEAD  AND  DOOMED,"  soliloquized 
DeMonte,  as  he  knelt  beside  the  apparently 
lifeless  body.  "Both  are  removed  from  my 
path  forever.  This  little  piece  of  mechan 
ism,"  thought  he,  placing  the  pistol  at  the 
lieutenant's  side,  shall  shield  me  from  de 
tection.  Now,  to  remove  the  shotgun,"  he 
said,  as  he  quickly  placed  it  inside  the  cabin, 
"and  the  coyotes  may  feast  upon  these,"  as 
he  picked  up  the  string  of  quail  which  the 
lieutenant  had  shot  and  threw  them  down 
120 


the  gulch.  "The  evidence  of  the  lieutenant's 
guilt  is  there,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  re 
volver,  "and  dead  men's  lips  are  sealed  for 
ever." 

"Now,  I'll  away  and  banish  this  ac 
cursed  tragedy  from  my  mind,  ere  I  again 
seek  Lucette's  presence.  Farewell,  my  noble 
comrade,"  he  mockingly  said.  "You  had  not 
the  honor  of  falling  on  the  battlefield,  but 
by  my  hand — I,  that  ere  this — thirsted  for 
your  life.  You  were  never  born  to  be 
drowned,  my  friend.  A  miracle  alone  once 
saved  you,  in  the  guise  of  a  fisherman.  I 
received  the  credit  of  saving  your  life  then. 
I  don't  want  the  credit  of  taking  it  now. 
You  came  upon  me  one  moment  too  soon," 
mused  he,  walking  toward  the  trail.  Running 
deftly  up  the  path,  he  looked  back,  saying, 
"it  was  your  fate — farewell."  He  then  dis 
appeared  from  view. 

"Villian !  Villian  beware,"  cried  Esperanza, 
the  gypsy,  gazing  after  DeMonte  as  she 
emerged  from  behind  a  tall  pine  tree.  "Did'st 
thou  think  that  thy  dastardly  deed  was  un 
witnessed  ?  Go !  Revel — revel  in  thy  belief. 
Vengeance  will  burst  upon  thy  head  whilst 
thou  art  sleeping,  for  the  gypsy,  like  the 
snake  that  charms  the  bird,  abides  the  time 
121 


for  its  destruction.  Then  kneeling  at  the 
lieutenant's  side,  she  scanned  his  face  in 
tently.  "Who  art  thou,  man,  on  whom  De- 
Monte  hath  wreaked  his  vengeance?  Is  life 
extinct?"  she  said,  raising  his  head.  "What 
is  this?"  she  exclaimed  aloud,  picking  up  a 
miniature  and  opening  it — a  miniature  that 
had  evidently  fallen  from  his  pocket.  "That 
face.  Tis  she — she  who  hath  come  between 
my  love  and  me.  She  must  be  the  cause  of 
enmity  between  Roderick  DeAIonte  and  his 
victim.  I'll  baffle  his  plans,"  she  wildly  cried. 
"If  there  be  life,  I  will  save  this  man,  and 
none  but  my  faithful  'Wah-Ha'  (the  Indian), 
shall  know  of  his  existence." 

She  lightly  ran  up  the  mountain  path  and 
signaled  with  her  hands,  which  summoned 
instantly  a  stalwart,  dusky  Indian,  whom 
she  motioned  to  help  render  assistance  to 
the  dying  man.  The  last  lurid  rays  of  the 
setting  sun  pictured  Esperanza  and  her  faith 
ful  mute  bearing  to  safety  the  human  freight 
up  the  mountain  side. 


122 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE  DISCOVERED  WEAPON 

"It  looks  as  if  it  were  clouding  up  for  a 
storm,"  said  Claude  Girrade,  the  overseer  of 
the  Lucette  Mine,  who  was  coming  down  the 
trail  in  the  approaching  darkness.  "I  thought 
we  would  be  able  to  reach  camp  long  before 
dusk." 

"Fse  be  glad,  Massa  Girrade,  we  be  heah. 
I's  tramped  nuff  fo'  one  day,"  replied  Criss, 
Girrade's  colored  companion,  as  he  laid  down 
a  large  heavy  grip  with  a  sigh. 

"The  cabin  appears  to  be  in  total  dark 
ness.  Can  it  be  possible  that  Mr.  Fielding 
and  his  son  have  mistaken  the  trail?" 

"Gess  not,  massa.  Dey  maybe  'sleep  in  de 
cabin,"  reassuringly  replied  Criss. 

"Strike  a  light,  Criss,  I  feel  worried  in 
regard  to  my  friends.  If  I  had  received  their 
telegram  in  time,  I  would  have  personally 
conducted  them  hither,"  he  said  entering  the 
cabin. 

"Confoun'    dem   matches,"    said    Criss,   im 
patiently  striking  two  or  three  without  effect. 
"Dey  be  reg'lar  scantlins." 
123 


"Bring  me  a  light,  quick,"  called  Girrade 
in  a  perplexed  tone  from  within  the  cabin. 
"What  the  deuce  have  I  stepped  into,"  he 
exclaimed.  Great  heavens !  What  is  this  ?" 
he  cried,  stricken  with  horror,  as  Criss 
flashed  the  lantern  in  the  cabin  door.  "My 
God!  Mr.  Fielding!  Here!  Dead!" 

"Oh,  Lordy  deliber  us.  Dis  am  terrible, 
terrible !"  cried  Criss,  rolling  up  his  eyes  and 
trembling  like  a  water-soaked  dog. 

"Dead,  lifeless  and  cold,"  pronounced  Gir 
rade,  after  hastily  examining  the  murdered 
man.  "Where  can  Lieutenant  Fielding  be?" 
he  anxiously  inquired.  "There  has  been  a 
strange  tragedy  enacted  here.  Now,  to  fathom 
this  mystery." 

"Oh,  Massa,  Fse  tremblin'  like  a  fellar 
dat  hab  got  de  ague." 

"Come,  come,  brace  up.  Let  us  investigate 
this  affair,"  said  Girrade,  lighting  another 
lantern.  Then  he  immediately  stepped  out 
of  the  cabin  followed  by  Criss. 

"Look!  Look,  Massa,  Here  am  a  pool  of 
blood,"  excitedly  cried  Criss,  pointing  upon 
the  ground  outside  of  the  cabin. 

"Strange,  no  trace  of  it  any  place  else," 
returned  Girrade,  as  he  cast  the  rays  of  the 


124 


lantern  around.  "Ah,"  he  excitedly  ex 
claimed,  discovering  the  lieutenant's  pistol  on 
the  ground.  "A  clue,"  perhaps,  said  he, 
picking  up  the  pistol  and  examining  it 
closely.  He  started  violently  as  he  read  the 
engraved  name  of  Lieutenant  Fielding  upon 
the  handle.  "His  son's  revolver,"  he  ejacu 
lated,  "and  two  chambers  empty.  Could  he 
have  committed  this  outrageous  deed  and 
fled?  If  so — let  him  be  brought  to  justice. 
Lieutenant  Fielding  evidently  has  murdered 
HIS  OWN  FATHER." 


125 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

SIX    WEEKS   LATER 

The  curtains  in  the  spacious  living  room 
of  the  Fielding  home  were  drawn  closely.  A 
cheerful  fire  burned  brightly  in  the  old  Dutch 
grate.  The  reading  lamp,  which  stood  on 
the  old  massive  mahogany  table,  with  its  dark 
green  shade,  cast  a  subdued  light  on  the  com 
fortable  furnishings  of  the  room. 

Seated  beside  the  open  fireplace  sat  Lu- 
cette,  robed  in  a  dress  of  deep  mourning.  Her 
shapely  golden  head  rested  on  her  dimpled 
arm  as  she  watched  the  ruddy  flames — pro 
foundly  thinking. 

"How  dreary  life  seems  to  me  now !  Oh, 
father,  why  were  you  destined  to  take  that 
perilous  journey  which  has  brought  such 
desolation  upon  our  home?  Evil,  indeed,  has 
overtaken  us.  It  was  the  gypsy's  prophecy," 
she  mournfully  thought,  bowing  her  head  in 
grief. 

"Come,    child,    you    must    overcome    this 
morbidness,"  said  Adele,  who,  upon  opening 
the   door  and  entering  the   room,   discovered 
Lucette  in  the  above  described  attitude. 
126 


"Adele,  you  know  not  what  you  ask.  This 
suspense  is  killing  me,"  she  said  tearfully, 
rising.  "Killing  me,"  she  repeated,  wringing 
her  hands  in  despair.  "It  is  fully  six  weeks 
since  we  received  tidings  of  this  dreadful 
tragedy,  and  the  assassin " 

"Lieutenant  Fielding,"  interrupted  Adele. 
"Can  you  believe  the  verdict?"  she  asked 
with  marked  emphasis. 

"\o!  No!"  Lucette  excitedly  cried,  her 
azure  eyes  flashing  and  her  pale  face  drawn. 
"It  is  that  thought  which  drives  me  to  dis 
traction.  My  heart  tells  me  that  Lieutenant 
Fielding  is  innocent  of  the  crime  he  is  ac 
cused  of,  but  as  time  passes  away  and  no 
tidings  of  him  dead  or  alive  is  received  to 
prove  his  innocence,  I  am  on  the  verge  of 
despair.  Yet  rest  assured  the  guilty  shall 
not  go  unpunished." 

"But  who  is  the  guilty  one?"  asked  Adele, 
thoughtfully. 

"I  cannot  say,"  returned  Lucette.  "Papa 
Fielding  had  no  enemies.  Robbery  .was  not 
the  cause  of  the  crime,  as  his  wallet  was 
found  undisturbed  on  his  person." 

"Girrade,  during  the  inquest,"  remarked 
Adele,  "referred  to  certain  papers  supposed 
127 


to  be  on  Mr.  Fielding's  person,  previous  to 
his  death,  as  a  motive  for  the  murder." 

"The  papers  proving  the  water  right  to  the 
mine? — they  were  found  untouched  in  his 
pocket,"  returned  Lucette. 

"Then,  suspicion  rests  alone  on  Lieutenant 
Fielding,"  said  Adele  in  a  slow,  sorrowful, 
measured  tone. 

"Patience,  Adele,  Time,  the  healing  balm, 
the  relentless  avenger,  will  tell,"  said  Lucette 
with  a  deep  drawn  sob. 

"Missy  Lucette,"  called  Jute,  as  she  opened 
the  door  and  dashed  unceremoniously  into 
the  living  room.  She  was  ridiculously  at 
tired  in  a  black  mull  dress  which  she  made 
conspicuous  by  the  adornment  of  a  cherry 
colored  sash  which  was  tied  in  a  gorgeous 
bow  at  the  back  of  her  dress.  A  cherry  rib 
bon  adorned  her  hair.  In  her  hand  she 
held  a  large  bouquet. 

"Heah  be  some  posies  wid  de  compliments 
ob  de  gen'man  on  de  ticket,"  she  said  as  she 
laid  the  bouquet  on  the  table. 

Adele,  gazing  at  Jute  in  utter  astonish 
ment,  quickly  asked:  "What  are  you  made 
up  for,  Jute?" 

"The  idea  of  you  wearing  such  bright 
colored  ribbons  so  soon?  Do  you  forget  we 
128 


are  in  deep  mourning,  Jute?"  reproachfully 
questioned  Lucette. 

"Morning  or  ebenin',  it  all  be  de  same  in 
dis  house  now.  Eberyting  be  dark  and  dreary. 
I'se  jist  put  on  dis  cherry  bow  to  liven  de 
folks  up  a  bit,"  said  Jute,  poutingly. 

"Don't  do  it  again.  It  displeases  me  very 
much.  Run  along  now  and  remove  those  rib 
bons  immediately,"  said  Lucette,  seriously. 

Jute,  turning  to  go,  said  half  aloud,  "Ma 
cherry  bow  'n  Missy  Lucette's  bouquet,  bof 
got  a  cold  'ception." 

"These  roses  are  exquisite,"  remarked 
Adele,  picking  up  the  roses  and  arranging 
them  gracefully  in  a  vase  on  the  table. 

Lucette,  in  an  absent  minded  way,  replied : 
"Oh,  yes,  rather."  Then,  carelessly  glancing 
at  the  card  that  was  attached  to  the  bouquet, 
she  tossed  it  aside  indifferently,  and  with  a 
tinge  of  annoyance  in  her  voice  said:  "Why 
does  that  man  pester  me  with  his  atten 
tions  ?" 

"Nothing  seems  to  interest  you  now,"  re 
marked  Adele,  looking  up  meekly. 

"You   are   right,  Adele,"  quickly  answered 

Lucette,    crossing    the    room.     Opening    the 

window  and  looking  out  now  into  the  starry 

night,  she  continued,  as  she  inhaled  a  breath 

129 


of  the  clear,  crisp  air:  ''Especially  Roderick 
DeMonte's  attentions  and  gifts." 

"Lucette,  you  must  admit  that  he  has  treated 
you  very  kindly  during  your  recent  bereave 
ment,  and  is  doing  all  in  his  power  to  fathom 
the  mystery.  Being  Lieutenant  Fielding's 
dearest  friend,  you  should  try  and  show  him 
a  little  consideration,  Lucette." 

"Should  Roderick  DeMonte  be  able  to  clear 
Lieutenant  Fielding's  name  of  this  stigma, 
much  as  I  repulse  him.  willingly  would  I 
give  him  my  everlasting  gratitude." 

"Well,  Lucette,"  said  Adele,  gently  caress 
ing  her,  "you  being  alone  in  the  world  now, 
you  should  have  some  one  in  the  world  to 
protect  you.  Roderick  DeMonte  loves  you 
desperately  and  he  will  not  leave  a  stone  un 
turned  to  help  unravel  this  mystery.  Surely 
you  should  repay  him  with  a  little  more  than 
gratitude — love — say." 

"Love?"  indignantly  answered  Lucette. 
"The  word  to  me  is  mockery.  Ask  me  not  to 
love  in  this  world  again.  Gratitude  I  may  give. 
Love — never,"  she  said  resigned. 

"If  Roderick  DeMonte  calls  this  evening, 
you  will  at  any  rate  promise  to  receive  him 
kindly,"  Adele  asked,  patronizingly. 

"I  will  try,"  answered  Lucette,  coldly. 

"Come.  Lucette,  join  me  in  a  short  walk. 
130 


The  evening  air  is  crisp  and  will  revive  your 
spirits  and  do  you  good." 

"Very  well,"  said  Lucette,  as  she  reluctantly 
followed  Adele. 

A  good  half  hour  had  hardly  elapsed,  when 
Jute  ushered  Roderick  DeMonte  into  the  liv 
ing  room.  Placing  a  chair  at  his  disposal,  she 
relieved  him  of  his  overcoat  and  hat.  He  was 
faultlessly  attired  in  evening  dress.  "So  your 
mistress  is  at  home?"  asked  he  smilingly  of 
Jute,  as  he  slowly  drew  off  his  glove. 

"Yes,  sah,  Missy  Lucette  be  at  home.  Please 
be  seated,  I'se  gwyne  to  call  her  'mediately." 
Jute  then  went  in  search  of  Lucette. 

"So,"  soliloquized  DeMonte,  seating  himself, 
"the  fair  Lucette  condescends  to  receive  me 
ere  I  depart.  What  a  lucky  individual  you 
are,  DeMonte!  Ah,  Lucette  is  subdued  now 
by  believing  that  her  lover  is  the  assassin  of 
his  father.  Luckily  for  me  that  I  succeeded  in 
robbing  Mr.  Fielding,  not  of  papers  relative  to 
the  mine  as  I  intended,  but  of  some  worthless 
papers  he  happened  to  have  in  his  possession. 
Thus  have  the  detectives  been  foiled  of  a  clue. 
Why  the  body  of  Lieutenant  Fielding,  if 
dead,  has  not  been  found,  is  a  mystery  to  me. 
Xo  matter.  Dead  he  is  harmless,  and  were  he 
alive  he  would  have  proclaimed  his  innocence 
before  now." 

131 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   PROMISE 

Lucette  was  startled  visibly  on  beholding 
DeMonte  upon  her  entrance  into  the  room 
where  he  was  anxiously  waiting  for  her. 

DeMonte,  with  a  profound  bow,  offered  Lu- 
cete  his  hand,  saying,  "My  dear  Miss  Westly." 

"Pray  be  seated,  Mr.  DeMonte,"  she  said 
coldly,  motioning  toward  a  chair.  "Jute  in 
formed  me  that  you  were  here  and  desired  to 
see  me.  There  is  no  word  as  yet — no  tidings — 
of  Lieutenant  Fielding?"  she  eagerly  asked,  as 
she  sank  down  in  a  large  easy  chair. 

"None,  poor  fellow,  dead  or  alive,"  an 
swered  DeMonte,  solemnly  shaking  his  head. 
His  eyes  rested  upon  the  floor.  He  dare  not 
look  Lucette  in  the  face. 

"But  his  name,"  cried  Lucette  excitedly. 
"This  stigma  must  be  removed.  You  know, 
Roderick  DeMonte,  that  he  never  committed 
that  deed,"  said  she,  looking  him  searchingly 
in  the  face. 

"I  believe  my  friend  capable  of  every  vir 
tue.  I  shall  endeavor  to  do  my  utmost  to 
clear  his  name  if  dead  and  bring  the  true 
132 


assassin  to  justice.  For  my  reward  I  ask 
to  lay  my  heart's  devotion  at  thy  feet." 

"Roderick  DeMonte,  this  subject  is  very 
painful  to  me  in  my  early  grief.  If  you  can 
accept  my  gratitude — 

"Yes,  Lucette,"  interrupted  DeMonte,  "Your 
faintest  smile  makes  me  the  happiest  of  men. 
As  your  eternal  slave  I  now  kneel  at  your  feet, 
craving  that  some  day  you  will  return  my  pas 
sionate  love.  That  I  may  call  you  my  wife." 

"Roderick  DeMonte,  we  may  just  as  well 
come  to  an  understanding  once  and  forever. 
Your  wife?  Never  can  I  bestow  one  atom  of 
love  upon  you.  My  respect  and  gratitude  is 
all  you  can  expect,"  she  said,  sternly. 

"Lucette,"  cried  DeMonte  pleadingly,  ''Un 
say  those  words.  Give  me  hope  Let  me  love 
thee.  When  it  is  proven  that  I  have  earned 
my  reward  by  bringing  the  assassin  to  justice 
— grant  me  thy  hand  for  my  friend's  sake — 
promise  me."  Lucette,  in  a  bewildered  voice 
hardly  audible,  hesitatingly  stammered,  "I — 
I—" 

"Promise,"  interrupted  DeMonte.  "Heaven 
bless  you.  I  go  now,  Lucette,  enraptured  in  the 
anticipation  of  calling  you  the  sweetest  name 
on  earth- — wife."  Quickly  catching  her  hand, 
he  kissed  it  fervently  and  without  another  word 
133 


donned  his  hat  and  overcoat  and  silently  went 
out  into  the  chilly  night. 

Lucette  remained  dumbfounded,  dazed  for 
the  moment.  The  blood  had  receded  from  her 
lace,  leaving  it  deathly  pale.  Her  eyes  stared 
vacantly  at  the  now  closed  door,  through 
which  DeMonte  had  passed.  Madly  clasping 
her  hands  together,  she  wildly  exclaimed 
aloud,  as  the  thought  flashed  through  her 
brain  :  "What  have  I  promised  ?  Heavens ! 
To  become  that  man's  wife.  His  wife!  My 
very  soul  revolts,"  she  excitedly  uttered, 
clrtching  the  arm  of  the  chair  violently  for 
support,  as  she  almost  fell  to  the  floor.  "I 
a'.hor  him."  she  continued.  "Oh,  Bertie,  for 
give  me !  Forgive  me !"  she  sobbed  out  in 
her  wild  despair.  "Your  sake  alone  de 
mands  this  sacrifice,"  she  tearfully  uttered, 
bowing  her  head. 

"In  tears.  Lucette?"  asked  Adele,  entering 
the  room.  "I'm  so  sorry  to  see  you  so  de 
pressed.  Why?  What  is  the  matter?" 

Lucette  aose  hastily,  wringing  her  hand? 
and  walking  up  and  down.  She  cried  out  in  art 
rxgonized  voice  :  "Adele,  I  am  almost  distracted, 
^'hat  have  I  promised?  What  have  I  done?" 

"Nothing  unreasonable,  nothing  unpardon 
able.  I  hope,"  answered  Adele,  somewhat  sur 
prised. 

134 


"Listen !"  Lucette  replied  in  an  agitated 
voice.  Then,  clutching  Adele  by  the  arm, 
she  stared  into  her  face  and  continued.  "I 
have  promised  to  become  Roderick  DeMonte's 
wife."  At  that  instant  the  heavy  curtains 
parted  and  Larry  Leigh  stood  as  if  rooted  to 
the  spot  as  he  exclaimed  with  horror:  "LU 
CETTE  WESTLY,  ARE  YOU  MAD?" 

Lucette  and  Adele  started  visibly  as  the 
hoarse  voice  reached  them.  Lucette  turned 
deathly  pale  as  she  confronted  Leigh,  and 
Adele  sarcastically  asked :  "\Yhat  means  this 
intrusion,  sir?  You  forget — 

"Everything,"  said  Leigh,  "where  Lucette's 
happiness  and  honor  are  concerned.  Should 
you,"  said  lie.  turning  to  Lucette,  "deem  this  an 
intrusion  I  apologize.  I  came  to  seek  you  ex 
pecting  to  find  you  alone.  Hearing  voices  I 
was  about  to  retrace  my  steps  when  I  was 
riveted  to  the  spot  by  your  announcement." 

"But  your  remark,"  interrupted  Adele. 

"If  I  were  dying  I  would  still  find  strength 
to  utter  the  words  that  would  prohibit  Lucette 
from  becoming  that  man's — Roderick  De 
Monte's  wife.  I  will  offer  an  explanation,"  said 
he,  glancing  at  Lucette,  "when  we  are  alone." 

"Kxcuse  me,  Lucette,"  sneeringly  said  Adele 
"I  shall  not  encroach  upon  valuable  time  which 
135 


must  be  devoted  to  the  satisfactory  explana 
tion  of  an  uncalled  for  remark  made  by  an 
interfering  individual.  With  your  kind  per 
mission  I  beg  to  withdraw."  Then,  mockingly 
bowing,  she  left  the  room. 

"Well,  Leigh,  what  have  you  to  say?" 
asked  Lucette  in  a  trembling  voice,  after  Adele 
had  taken  her  departure. 

"The  night  previous  to  Mr.  Fielding's  leav 
ing  home  he  intrusted  you  to  my  care.  There 
fore  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  snatch  you  from  the 
precipice  on  which  you  stand,  by  thinking  for 
a  moment  of  bestowing  your  hand  on  Roderick 
DeMonte." 

"Do  you  know  anything  detrimental  to  his 
character?" 

"He  is  not  to  be  trusted,"  bluntly  said  Leigh. 
"I  cannot  conceive  how  you  have  brought 
yourself  to  make  such  a  promise  when  Lieu 
tenant  Fielding  held,  I  thought,  a  place  in  your 
affections,"  continued  he,  in  a  piqued  voice. 

"Ah,  Leigh,  my  promise  was  made  on  con 
ditions  that  Roderick  DeMonte  would  clear 
the  stigma  from  Lieutenant  Fielding's  name 
and  bring  the  true  assassin  to  justice.  I  do  not 
love  DeMonte,"  she  said,  with  a  look  of  hatred 
passing  over  her  face.  "The  love  of  my  heart 
was  given  to  him — for  whom  I  now  make 
136 


this  sacrifice — to  establish  his  innocence,"  she 
bitterly  rejoined. 

"Bless  you,"  said  Leigh  joyfully.  "You  have 
relieved  my  heart  by  proclaiming  your  love 
for  that  gallant  boy."  "Are  you  satisfied  now, 
Leigh?"  she  gently  inquired. 

"Xot  until  you  withdraw  your  promise. 
He'll  not  bring  the  true  culprit  to  justice.  I 
swear  it,"  he  vehemently  cried. 

"That  is  a  strong  assertion.  Be  more  ex 
plicit,"  remarked  Lucette. 

"Recall  your  promise.  I  shall  fathom  this 
mystery  without  you  having  to  sacrifice  your 
self  by  becoming  that  man's  wife." 

"You  can  do  this  and  save  me  from  a  hate 
ful  betrothal?"  eagerly  asked  Lucette. 

"Yes ;  rest  assured  I  will,"  returned  Leigh, 
"but  I  must  have  your  help.  Jute  and  you  must 
be  ready  to  accompany  me  three  days  hence 
on  a  journey  to  the  Lucette  Aline.  Follow  my 
instructions  and  we  shall  avenge  the  murder  of 
Mr.  Fielding  and  vindicate  the  name  of  Lieu 
tenant  Fielding." 

"Is  not  this  a  sudden  determination,  Leigh  ?" 
asked  Lucette. 

"No,"  he  answered,  shortly.  "My  suspicions 
have  been  aroused  for  some  time  in  regard  to 
the  gentleman  in  question.  I  must  secure  help 
137 


from  only  those  whom  I  can  trust,  in  order  to 
foil  the  true  murderer." 

"Are  you  sure  you  are  on  the  right  track, 
Leigh?"  anxiously  inquired  Lucette. 

"Positive.  One  request  I  ask.  Adele  must 
not  know  of  our  intended  destination." 

"Leave  that  to  me  quietly,"  assented  Lucette. 
The  sudden  drawn  portieres  revealed  Jute,  who 
yawningly  approached,  carrying  a  note  in  her 
hand. 

"  'Sense  me,  Missy,"  she  languidly  said. 
"I'se  thought  Missy  Adele  was  heah.  Dis 
chile  be  tole  to  'liver  dis  'pistol" — yawning 
stupidly. 

"Bang!  Bang!  Look  out  for  it,  Jute,  it  might 
go  off,"  teasingly  said  Leigh. 

"Who  gave  you  this  epistle,  Jute?"  asked 
Lucette,  in  surprise. 

"Massa  DeMonte,"  answered  Jute,  as  she 
endeavored  to  suppress  another  yawn. 

"Please  don't  attempt  to  open  that  rosebud 
mouth  of  yours  so  wide.  Jute.  It  rather  spoils 
your  personal  beauty."  In  reply  Jute  gave 
Leigh  a  withering  look  and  saucily  shrugged 
her  shoulders. 

"Strange  DeMonte  takes  leave  of  Adele  in 
this  singular  fashion,"  remarked  she,  glancing 
at  the  address  on  the  note,  "and  at  this  late 
138 


hour,"  she  continued.  Turning  to  Jute,  Lucette 
said:  "You  will  have  to  seek  Adele  elsewhere, 
my  child." 

"All  rite,  Missy,"  she  answered,  still  yawn 
ing  and  with  a  slow  gait  she  left  the  room. 

"Xow,  Miss  Lucette,  it  is  perfectly  under 
stood  that  you  and  Jute  accompany  me,  three 
days  hence." 

"Yes.  You  may  depend  upon  me  without 
fail.  I'll  now  bid  you  good  night,  Leigh." 

"Good  night,"  he  pleasantly  answered,  as 
Lucette  opened  the  door  that  led  out  of  the 
room. 

"Left  alone,"  Leigh  thought:  ''Before  I  re 
tire  I'll  enjoy  a  cigar  and  think  well  over  my 
coming  plans."  Lighting  a  cigar  which  he  took 
from  his  pocket,  he  leisurely  strolled  over  to 
the  large  bay  window,  where  he  concealed  him 
self  behind  the  old-fashioned  damask  curtains. 

"Deserted,"  exclaimed  Adele,  entering  the 
room  and  cautiously  looking  about.  "I  wonder 
what  could  have  induced  Roderick  DeMonte's 
sudden  departure?  Evidently  there  must  be 
something  on  his  mind."  The  door,  which 
A;:ele  happened  to  leave  ajar,  was  immediately 
darkened  by  the  entrance  of  the  little  do- 
irestic,  Jute,  crying:  "Oh,  Missy  Adele,  I'se  so 
tired.  I'se  jist  chased  de  'hole  house  all  ober 
139 


fo'  yo,'  Missy,  to  gib  yo'  clis,"  she  said,  offer 
ing  the  note  to  Adele. 

Adele  quickly  grasped  the  note  and  hurriedly 
opening  it,  she  read  the  following: 

"Adele,  when  all  have  retired,  meet  me  in 
the  library.  Give  signal.  Important. 

"DEMONTE." 

Knitting  her  brow  and  then  looking  quickly 
up  she  perceived  Jute  still  standing  waiting. 
"Go  on.  Get  to  bed.  You  look  weary,"  com 
manded  Adele,  as  Jute  willingly  scooted. 

"I  wonder,"  thought  Adele,  unconsciously 
dropping  DeMonte's  note  on  the  table,  "what 
he  wants  of  me  now?  I  am  getting  so  tired  of 
being  compelled  to  do  Roderick  DeMonte's  bid 
ding.  What  is  there  to  be  gained  now — since 
Lieutenant  Fielding  is  no  more?  I'll  grant  him 
this  interview  and  give  him  to  understand  that 
I  shall  not  be  his  accomplice  any  longer.  It 
is  now  close  on  to  eleven  o'clock,"  said  she, 
glancing  at  the  time.  "All  have  retired,  so  I 
will  venture  to  give  the  signal."  Lowering  the 
lamp,  she  quickly  darted  from  the  room. 

Leigh  suddenly  emerged  from  behind  the 
heavy  curtains.  "More  mystery,"  thought  he, 
as  he  lightly  advanced  toward  the  table. 
"\Yhat's  this,"  said  he  aloud,  picking  up  the 
note  which  Adele  had  unconsciously  dropped. 
He  quickly  scanned  its  contents.  "So,  my 
140 


pretty  pair,"  he  declared  aloud,  "there  seems 
to  be  a  conspiracy  on  hand.  I  think  I  shall  re 
main  just  where  I  was  and  await  further  de 
velopments."  Leigh  had  scarcely  concealed 
himself  behind  the  heavily  curtained  window 
before  Adele  returned  to  the  room.  Looking 
anxiously  about,  she  hastened  to  a  side  window 
that  overlooked  the  garden.  Opening  the  win 
dow  quietly  she  then  waved  her  hand,  after 
which  she  walked  over  to  the  table.  Turning 
up  the  light  she  discovered  the  note.  Quickly 
picking  it  up,  she  hid  it  in  the  folds  of  her 
dress.  A  look  of  annoyance  crossed  her  brow 
as  she  thought:  "How  stupid  of  me  to  have 
been-  so  careless."  A  low  knock  at  the  door 
startled  her.  She  quickly  opened  the  door  and 
confronted  DeMonte. 

"Alone?"  Adele,  he  inquired,  looking  about. 

"Quite,  be  seated.  We  are  not  likely  to  be 
disturbed,"  Adele  answered,  giving  him  an  in 
quiring  look. 

"Lucette  thinks  I  have  taken  my  departure 
ere  this,  but  I  could  not  leave  without  an  inter 
view  with  you.  Lucette  has  accepted  me  as  her 
betrothed.  No  doubt  you  are  surprised,"  said 
he,  as  he  noticed  her  involuntary  start.  Draw 
ing  out  a  silk  handkerchief  from  his  pocket,  he 
unconsciously  dropped  a  small  addressed  card. 
141 


Looking  keenly  at  Aclele  he  wondered  what 
effect  his  announcement  had  made  upon  her. 

"Then  I  am  at  liberty  to  end  all  these 
clandestine  meetings,"  she  rigidly  remarked. 

"Well,  yes,"  he  replied  with  a  drawling  ac 
cent.  "I  am  sorry  things  did  not  turn  out  as 
well  as  we  expected.  As  far  as  I  am  con 
cerned  I  have  nothing  to  regret,  but  the  loss 
of  my  brave  young  friend,  the  lieutenant." 

"While  I—  '  returned  Adele  bitterly. 

"Have  suffered,"  interrupted  DeMonte,  "by 
loving  and  losing  the  lieutenant." 

"Do  you  mean  to  infer  that  Lieutenant 
Fielding  never  cared  for  me?"  asked  Adele, 
a  humiliating  blush  mantling  her  cheeks.  "That 
you  lured  me  on  with  false  hope  with  the 
selfish  motive  of  only  benefiting  yourself?" 
she  asked,  in  an  injured,  indignant  tone. 

"Pray,  don't  get  excited,  dear  girl,  remem 
ber  the  old  adage — 'All's  fair  in  love  and 
war.' ': 

"So,"  she  said,  trembling  and  white  with 
rage.  "Then  you  have  lied  to  me.  I  shall  pro 
claim  you,"  she  threatened. 

"No,"  replied  DeMonte,  coolly  biting  his 
lip  and  looking  her  keenly  in  the  face.  "You 
would  only  implicate  yourself.  Take  my  ad- 
142 


vice.  Nurse  your  wrath  tenderly,  little  girl,  if 
you  will,  but  keep  a  still  tongue." 

"Enough,"  bitterly  cried  Adele,  pointing  to 
the  door.  "Go  from  my  presence.  I  sincerely 
regret  that  I  ever  left  myself  for  an  instant 
in  your  power.  I  am  sufficiently  punished.  Go, 
you  ingrate,  I  hope  never  to  set  eyes  on  you 
again,"  she  said,  turning  away,  her  eyes  brim 
ming  with  pent-up  tears. 

"Come,  Adele,"  requested  he.  "Shake  hands 
Must  we  part  in  anger?  Bid  me  good-bye," 
he  said,  as  she  still  remained  turned  from  his 
gaze,  wrapped  up  in  her  silent,  stony  atti 
tude  of  contempt. 

"Sullen,  eh?"  commented  he,  apparently 
somewhat  disturbed.  After  a  moment's  pause 
he  said:  "Allow  me  to  inform  you  that  the 
outer  gate  is  locked  and  the  bloodhounds  are 
loose.  Probably  it  would  be  unsafe  for  me 
to  pass  out  of  the  grounds  this  late — alone." 

"Go,"  said  she,  turning  and  facing  him.  "I'll 
show  you  more  mercy  than  you  deserve.  I 
have  command  over  the  brutes.  Lead  on, 
coward,"  she  hissed,  as  she  followed  him 
through  the  open  door. 

"Scoundrel,"  ejaculated  Leigh,  parting  the 
curtains,     immediately     after     DeMonte     and 
Adele    had    left    the    room.    "Some    one    ap- 
143 


preaches,"   he   exclaimed,    as    Lucette   softly 
made  her  appearance. 

"Still  up,  Leigh?"  inquired  Lucette,  in  a 
surprised  tone  of  voice.  She  was  attired  in 
a  loose  evening  robe,  her  luxuriant  curls  fell 
carelessly  down  her  back.  "I  found  it  impos 
sible  to  sleep,"  said  she,  in  an  apologizing 
tone  (as  Leigh  looked  surprised  at  her),  and 
wanted  something  to  read.  I  believe  I  left  my 
book  here.  Yes,  here  it  is,"  she  said,  picking 
up  the  book  from  off  the  table.  She  turned 
and  was  about  to  retrace  her  steps,  when  Leigh 
intercepted  her.  Cautiously  looking  about,  he 
said: 

"I  have  some  important  news.  Sh,"  he  con 
tinued,  cautioning  her  to  silence.  "Some  one 
approaches.  No  matter  what  I  say,  coin 
cide  with  me  and  let  nothing  surprise  you." 
•  With  this  warning  to  Lucette,  he  crossed  over 
to  the  windows  and  made  a  pretense  of  locking 
them  for  the  night. 

"Lucette !"  exclaimed  Adele,  breathless  with 
surprise  on  entering  the  room,  and  perceiv 
ing  it  occupied.  "Why,  I  thought  everybody 
had  retired,"  she  anxiously  looked  first  at 
Lucette  and  then  at  Leigh,  perplexed,  as  if 
inviting  an  explanation. 

"I  came  in  to  turn  off  the  lights  and  secure 
144 


the  windows  for  the  night  and  found  Miss 
Lucette  at  this  untimely  hour  looking  for  a 
book  to  read.  She  seems  to  be  very  nervous 
and  I  have  been  trying  to  prevail  upon  her 
that  she  needs  a  change  of  air,  as  it  would  be 
beneficial  to  her,  and  would  enable  her  to 
sleep  well  at  night,  instead  of  taxing  her  brain 
reading  until  the  wee,  wee  hours  of  the  morn 
ing." 

"Lucette  is  very  nervous  and  exceedingly 
restless,"  said  Adele,  recovering  her  com 
posure. 

"Miss  Lucette,"  declared  Leigh  in  an  as 
sumed  masterly  tone  of  voice.  "I  insist  upon 
you  to  be  ready  in  the  course  of  a  day  or  so 
to  take  a  short  trip  to  some  mountain  resort, 
where  yon  can  derive  some  benefit  from  the 
bracing  air." 

"A  good  idea,  Leigh,  she  needs  a  change 
badly,"  affirmed  Adele.  "Jute  may  accompany 
you,"  suggested  Leigh.  "We'll  find  use  for  lit 
tle  'Fuzzy'  all  right,"  said  he,  laughing. 

"Yes, 'Lucette,  you  must  certainly  avail  your 
self  of  the  opporunity.  It  will  revive  your 
spirits,  and  bring  the  bloom  to  your  cheeks 
again.  Good  night,  dear,"  she  said,  kissing 
Lucette  lightly  on  the  cheek.  She  then  made 
her  exit  from  the  room. 
145 


"Tonight,"  said  Leigh,  in  an  undertone  to 
Lucette,  "I  witnessed  a  secret  meeting  here 
between  Roderick  DeMonte  and  Adele  Thorn, 
and  I  overhead  a  conversation  which  con 
firms  my  suspicion." 

"What  does  all  this  mean,"  cried  Lucette, 
agitated. 

Do  not  question  me  so  closely  at  present, 
Lucette.  Help  me  to  carry  out  my  plan  and 
you  shall  learn  all,"  said  he,  casually  stoop 
ing  and  picking  up  a  small  card  which  he  held 
carelessly  in  his  hand  for  a  moment.  Then, 
scrutinizing  it  keenly,  he  exclaimed  in  a  hoarse 
choking  voice :  "Great  heavens,"  then  passed 
the  card  to  Lucette,  while  beads  of  perspira 
tion  broke  out  upon  his  brow. 

Lucette  tremblingly  took  the  card,  and  in  a 
frightened  voice  read:  "WILLIAM  H. 
CHESTERFIELD,  MT.  INN,  SUMMIT." 

"That  is  my  handwriting.  The  very  card  Mr. 
Fielding  had  in  his  pocket  the  morning  he  un 
dertook  that  perilous  journey." 

"Well,  well,"  cried  Lucette,  trembling  and 
clutching  the  table,  waiting  in  breathless  ex 
pectation. 

"Well,  Roderick  DeMonte  evidently  mur 
dered  Mr.  Fielding." 

Lucette,  reeling,  fell  in  a  faint  in  Leigh's 
arms. 

146 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
THE  EAGLE'S  REST 

The  Autumn  morning  was  radiantly  beauti 
ful.  The  air  balmy  and  refreshing,  the  moun 
tain  scenery  sublime.  Nestling  on  the  brow  of 
the  mountain  was  a  little  picturesque  inn  called 
the  ''Eagle's  Rest."  A  sort  of  miners'  resort, 
and  situated  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the 
Lucette  Mine.  Seated  on  the  veranda  of  this 
charming  mountain  inn,  Harry  Leigh  was  en 
joying  his  pipe  and  at  the  same  time  scanning 
a  newspaper.  He  was  commonly  dressed  in 
the  garb  of  a  laborer.  His  clear-cut  features 
were  hidden  beneath  a  broad  brimmed  hat 
which  he  wore,  and  the  false  beard  further 
disguised  his  appearance.  Suddenly  the  inn 
door  was  pushed  ajar  as  Criss,  the  negro  por 
ter,  with  a  broad  grin  on  his  face,  came  out. 

Addressing  Leigh,  he  said:  "So,  stranger, 
you  lost  da  game?" 

"Well,  yes,"  replied  Leigh,  taking  the  pipe 
from  his  mouth. 

'Tse  nebber  see'd  dat  lucky  in'vidu'l  beaten 
yet.     He  brushed  da  dust  from  many  a  poor 
debbil  'roun  dese  parts." 
147 


"How  long  has  he  been  around  here?"  asked 
Leigh,  quickly. 

"Oh,  he  comes  'round  'casionally.  He's 
int'rested  in  a  mine  'long  side  ob  dar  Lucette 
Mine,  whar  da  murder  be  commit'd  some  time 
"go." 

"Ah,  yes,  I  remember  reading  an  account 
of  it." 

Criss  resumed,  musingly:  "Funny  da  son 
nebber  turned  up.  Da  groun'  must  hab  swal 
lowed  him  up.  Berry  sad  'fair.  Dar  am  da 
bell,  I  must  be  off  and  tend  to  ma  business," 
as  the  signal  of  a  bell  struck  his  ear. 

"Just  as  I  expected,  DeMonte  is  here," 
soliloquized  Leigh.  "Yes ;  and  a  confirmed 
gambler.  He  does  not  suspect  it  was  I  who 
played  a  game  of  poker  with  him  for  the 
last  half  hour."  Leigh  arose  as  the  rumbling 
of  wheels  fell  upon  his  ear.  The  stage  coach, 
on  which  I  expect  Lucette  and  Jute,"  mused 
he. 

Criss  quickly  came  from  within  at  the  sound 
of  the  approaching  conveyance,  and  running 
down  the  steps  of  the  inn,  went  to  meet  the 
lumbering  vehicle.  Opening  the  little  narrow 
door  of  the  stage  coach,  he  assisted  the  two 
lone  passengers  to  alight.  Taking  up  their 
148 


valises,  he  led  the  way  up  the  steps  into  the 
inn. 

"Your  disguises  are  good,"  whispered  Leigh, 
as  Lucette  and  Jute  passed  by  him  on  the 
veranda.  "I  shall  await  you  here,  Lucette." 
Then  he  suddenly  became  engrossed  in  his 
newspaper  just  as  Roderick  DeMonte  strolled 
from  one  of  the  mountain  paths  that  led  up 
to  the  inn.  DeMonte  seated  himself  upon  a 
bench  near  by,  lit  a  cigar,  thoroughly  satisfied 
with  his  thoughts,  which  were  as  follows: 
"Three  days  have  I  resided  here.  The  mine 
murder  is  a  thing  of  the  past.  I  have  engaged 
the  men  to  work  on  my  claim.  Every  thing 
settled  I  must  hasten  back  to  my  darling  Lu 
cette.  It  seems  an  eternity  since  I  parted  from 
her.  Congratulate  yourself,  DeMonte,  you 
are  a  lucky  dog.  Even  Esperanza  is  a  thing 
of  the  past.  Never  have  I  laid  my  eyes  upon 
her  since  the  night  we  parted.  The  old  hut 
is  deserted  and  all  trace  of  her  is  lost."  De- 
Monte's  train  of  thought  was  cut  short  by 
Larry  Leigh,  who,  casting  his  paper  aside, 
slowly  descended  the  well-worn  steps  of  the 
"Eagle's  Rest"  and  sauntered  casually  in  De- 
Monte's  direction. 

DeMonte.  disturbed  from  his  revery,  looked 
up,  whereupon  Leigh  availed  himself  of  the 
149 


opportunity  to  address  him  with  the»e  words : 
"Good  day,  sir;  how  soon  do  we  commence: 
work  on  the  mine?" 

"In  a  couple  of  days  or  so,"  answered  he  in 
a  gruff  voice.  "If  you  need  a  little  money  I 
will  advance  it  to  you,"  asserted  DeMonte, 
with  an  air  of  bravado. 

"Thanks.  Not  at  all,  only — I  would  like  to 
get  busy,"  hesitatingly  returned  Leigh.  Then 
leisurely  sauntering  toward  the  steps  leading 
up  to  the  inn,  he  sat  down. 

"Well,"  thought  DeMonte,  gazing  after  him. 
"it  is  a  great  pity  that  there  is  not  more  like 
you  in  the  world." 

At  that  moment  Lucette,  disguised  as  a  Sal 
vation  Army  lassie,  appeared  at  the  door  of 
the  inn,  accompanied  by  Jute.  Lucette  stand 
ing  there  on  the  veranda  in  her  dark  blue  dress 
of  serge,  her  pretty  face  hid  beneath  a  large 
poke  bonnet,  disguised  with  a  gray  wig  and 
goggles,  gave  to  the  inn  of  the  "Eagle's  Rest" 
an  air  of  quietude  to  which  it  was  not  usually 
accustomed.  Jute,  leaning  on  a  crutch  beside 
her,  looked  very  ill  at  ease,  dressed  in  a  suit  of 
white  overalls  and  jumper.  An  old  straw 
hat  was  well  pulled  down  over  her  face 

Lucette,  suddenly  recognizing  DeMonte,  ex- 


150 


claimed  softly:  "As  I  live,  Jute,  there  stands 
I)c Monte.  Leigh  has  tracked  him,  sure." 

"Oh,  Missy,  doan  yo'  betray  yo'  selb,'  cried 
Jute,  agitated. 

"I  say,  'Uncle  Rube,'  "  said  DeMonte,  turn 
ing  and  surveying  Jute,  "Expect  to  do  any 
business  in  these  here  parts?  How  many  of 
your  band  are  along  with  you  ?" 

"Well,"  she  replied,  hesitatingly,  "dey  be 
tree  ob  us  if  yo'll  jine,"  she  said,  displaying  a 
tambourine  which  she  brought  out  from  be 
neath  her  blouse.  "Will  yo'  jine  us,  sah,"  she 
inquired,  shaking  the  tambourine  in  an  en 
deavor  to  dispel  her  agitation. 

"No  thank  you,"  said  he  sneeringly.  "I  am 
not  very  much  inclined  to  be  musical,  I  assure 
you." 

"I  say,  boss,"  said  Jute,  anxious  to  change 
the  subject.  "Which  am  de  trail  to  de  canyon?" 

"Straight  ahead,  then  turn  to  your  left," 
said  he  gruffly. 

"Thanks,  boss,"  she  replied,  ovenvilling  to 
get  out  of  his  sight.  She  nimbly  hobbled 
away. 

"They  want  to  convert  us  fellows  up  here," 
said  Leigh,  turning  to  DeMonte,  as  he  whittled 
a  stick  to  remove  the  nicotine  from  his  pipe. 

"I  dare  say  we  need  it  badly,"  replied  De- 
Monte,  walking  away. 

151 


"Keep  incognito  and  all  will  be  well.  I  think 
I  have  my  man  sure,"  cautiously  whispered 
Leigh  to  Lucette. 

"Say,  can  you  tella  me,  senior,  where  I  canna 
fina  da  boss  of  Rattlesnake  Mine?"  inquired  a 
chunky  little  dark  complexioned  Italian, 
dressed  in  blue  overalls,  a  blue  flannel  shirt, 
high  heeled  calf  skin  boots  and  wearing  a 
dinky  little  cap  on  the  back  of  his  dark  curly 
head. 

"He  has  reference  to  DeMonte,"  whispered 
Leigh  to  Lucette.  Then  addressing  the  Italian 
in  question,  Leigh  answered: 

"I  am  certain  he  was  here  but  a  moment 
ago." 

"Dey  tella  me  he  wanta  gooda  man  to  worka. 
You  worka  for  him?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Leigh. 

"Alia  righta ;  shaka  handa  comrada.  I  like 
toa  bea  your  frienda.  I  seea  you  againa,"  re 
turned  Miner  Joe,  the  little  Italian,  as  he  en 
tered  the  "Eagle's  Rest"  in  quest  of  DeMonte. 

"Here  comes  Jute  with  Criss.  Let  us  sepa 
rate."  said  Leigh  in  an  undertone,  quickly  to 
Lucette.  Leigh  seated  himself  in  a  chair  on 
the  veranda  as  Lucette  hastily  entered  the 
"Eagle's  Rest." 

"Don  see  'Lucky'  nowhare.  Gess  dat  fellah 
152 


Joe  hab  to  wait  his  pleasure.  Dat  mine  mur 
der  yo'  be  tellin'  me  'bout.  Did  dey  cotch  de 
young  fellah?"  asked  Jute,  hobbling  along. 

"No,  sah.  He  skipped  sure  as  yo'  born.  Dem 
miners  will  be  apt  to  see  spooks  walkin'  off 
wid  da  gold  some  nite,"  said  Criss,  with  a 
shake  of  his  head. 

"I'se  heard  so  much  'bout  dat  mine  murder 
I'se  got  great  curios'ty  to  see  it  some  time." 

"I  know  da  short  cut  ober  da  mountain.  I'se 
got  time,"  said  he  looking  at  his  watch.  Sup 
pose  we  go  fo'  a  walk  if  yo'  say  so.  Would 
yo'  frien'  like  to  'company  us?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  Lucette,  eagerly,  as  she 
stood  at  the  door.  I  would  be  most  happy 
to  join  you.  Suppose  we  start  at  once. 

"All  rite.  Come  on,  dis  way  folks,"  said 
Criss,  taking  the  lead,  Lucette  and  Jute  fol 
lowing. 


153 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  ASSAULT 

The  afternoon's  sun  was  gradually  sinking. 
A  cool  breeze  wafted  gently  through  the 
rugged  mountain  pass  that  led  up  to  the  Lu- 
cette  Mine.  The  thud  of  a  heavy  walking 
stick  kept  time  with  the  step  of  Roderick  De- 
Monte,  who  walked  briskly  through  the  moun 
tain  pass.  He  suddenly  paused,  scanned  his 
timepiece,  then  remarked  to  himself:  "I  have 
just  time  to  take  a  trip  over  to  the  mine  and 
back  before  dusk."  Looking  up  he  peered 
anxiously  before  him,  exclaiming  aloud  in  a 
surprised,  inquiring  tone  of  voice.  "A  woman, 
coming  this  way !  Where  does  she  hail  from 
here  in  the  heart  of  the  mountain?  Great 
heavens  !  Can  it  be  she,"  he  exclaimed.  Great 
beads  of  perspiration  starting  out  on  his  fore 
head,  as  he  breathlessly  cried:  "You?  You 
here?"  As  the  figure  of  a  woman  approached 
slowly. 

"Art   thou    surprised?"   she   answered   him. 
startled.    "Where  else  should  the  gypsy  outcast 
roam?"   "I   thought  that  you   had   left  these 
parts."  remarked  he.  "The  hut  is  deserted. "* 
154 


"Roderick,"  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands, 
"them  wouldst  recall  those  bitter  memories." 

"Come,  woman,"  he  scowlingly  said.  "Have 
you  not  done  with  that  nonsense  yet?" 

"\i>."  she  wildly  cried.  ''To  have  loved  thee 
once  was  forever.  In  spite  of  thy  cruel  hate  I 
love  thee  still.  Oh,  Roderick,  despise  not  my 
weakness.  None  will  ever  love  thee  as  I.  Take 
me,"  she  imploringly  cried,  as  she  knelt  on 
the  road  at  his  feet.  "Take  me  to  thy  heart 
again,"  she  pleadingly  cried,  "ere  my  gypsy 
blood  be  maddened  with  despair." 

"Enough,"  he  threateningly  ejaculated, 
bending  over  her,  then  clinching  his  teeth  and 
with  a  cruel  look  flashing  from  his  eyes,  said: 
"Your  entreaties  only  make  a  brute  of  me.  I 
spurn — I  despise  your  love,"  he  hissed.  "Be 
gone  viper  from  my  path."  She  arose  sud 
denly,  her  eyes  gleaming  wildly,  her  long  lux 
uriant  tresses  became  disarranged  and  fell  like 
a  mantle  o'er  her  shoulders  as  if  to  shield  her 
from  his  cruel,  threatening  blow.  Then  boldly 
confronting  him  she  gasped:  "DEMON  !  Doth 
thou  knowy  that  thou  art  in  my  power !  That 
I  possess  thy  secret !" 

"You  she-devil,"  he  hissed,  turning  livid. 
"Take  that,  and  raising  his  heavy  cane  he 
155 


struck  her  a  cruel,  stinging  blow,  which  felled 
her  to  the  ground. 

Voices  were  suddenly  wafted  on  the  breeze. 

DeMonte  listened  intently  for  a  moment, 
then  buttoning  up  his  coat  he  hastily  fled,  leav 
ing  Esperanza  lying  unconscious  on  the 
ground. 

"Come,  folks,"  cried  Criss,  his  head  popping 
over  a  large  boulder.  ''Gib  me  yo'  hand  'n  I'll 
help  yo'  over.  Dat's  right,"  said  he,  as  Lucette 
and  Jute  endeavored  to  follow  him :  "All  rite 
now,  cried  he,"  as  he  held  out  his  hand  and 
helped  Lucette  to  descend  the  well-worn  trail, 
Jute  following  slowly  after. 

"Hello!  Who  da  debbil  am  dis?"  Criss  cried 
out  in  a  surprised  voice,  as  he  discovered  the 
prostrate  form  of  Esperanza  lying  on  the  road. 
"A  woman,"  said  he,  kneeling  by  her  side  and 
gazing  at  her  anxiously.  "And  she  'pears  clean 
dead." 

"A  woman?"  repeated  Lucette,  kneeling  at 
her  side.  "Quick!  There  must  be  life.  Some 
water."  Tearing  off  her  straw  bonnet  quickly 
she  gave  it  to  Criss,  who  started  off  to  secure 
some  water  from  the  nearby  ravine. 

Jute,  taking  out  a  flask   from  beneath  her 
blouse,  she  offered  it  to  Lucette,  saying:  "Gib 
her  a  moufful  of-dis,  Missy." 
156 


"Who  can  she  possibly  be?"  asked  Lucette, 
inquiringly.  Scanning  her  face  intently  and 
at  the  same  time  holding  the  bottle  to  her  lips. 
"Probably  she  was  faint  from  exhaustion  and 
fell  by  the  roadside." 

"Look,  Missy,  she's  a  comin'  to,"  exclaimed 
Jute,  who  suddenly  dropped  the  bottle  of 
brandy  which  Lucette  had  passed  back  to  her, 
as  she  recognized  the  gypsy,  Esperanza.  Drop 
ping  suddenly  upon  her  knees,  rolling  up  her 
eyes  and  trembling  violently  with  the  nervous 
shock,  she  received  upon  meeting  the  gypsy 
woman  again,  she  cried  out  in  an  alarmed 
voice :  "Oh !  She  be  de  debbil  of  a  gypsy  dat 
dropped  from  de  clouds.  Oh,  Lordy!  Good 
Lordy  !"  she  imploringly  cried  :  "Sabe  yo'  frock 
in  de  wilderness  dis  day."  Prayerfully  clasp 
ing  her  hands,  she  rocked  herself  to  and  fro 
in  her  nervous  excitement. 

"Hush!  Hush!"  softly  whispered  Lucette. 
"You  will  betray  us.  She  will  not  hurt  you. 
She  is  powerless.  Oh,  this  is  terrible." 

"How  is  she?"  asked  Criss,  anxiously,  as  he 
appeared  with  Lucette's  straw  bonnet  half 
filled  with  water:  "Is  she  comin'  to,  nigger?" 
he  asked,  sprinkling  Esperanza's  face  with 
some  water. 

"Aler — Mercy  Roderick — Mercy,"  slowly 
157 


murmured  Esperanza,  as  she  regained  con 
sciousness. 

"Yo'  hear  dat  name,  Missy?"  said  Jute,  al 
most  in  hysterics,  as  she  clutched  Lucette  by 
the  arm. 

"Silence!"  commanded  Lucette. 

"  'Pears  dis  young  woman  hab  got  some 
trouble  on  her  mind,"  suggested  Criss. 

"Xo\v,  that  she  has  almost  regained  her 
senses,  perhaps  she  can  tell  us  where  she  lives. 
"My  good  woman,  are  you  better?"  kindly 
asked  Lucette,  smoothing  Esperanza's  brow. 

"Oh,  my  head — my  head,"  murmured  Esper 
anza  feebly,  opening  her  soulful  gazelle-like 
eyes. 

"How  did  yo'  hurt  yo'self,"  inquired  Criss. 

Looking  around  bewildered,  she  falteringly 
answered:  "I  was  struck.  I  fell  against  a  rock." 

"Who  struck  you  ?"  asked  Lucette,  amazed. 
"Tell  me." 

Esperanza  endeavored  to  rise,  her  breath 
coming  quickly,  she  excitedly  panted :  "A 
coward — Roderick  DeMonte."  And  then,  as  if 
the  exertion  was  too  much,  she  leaned  her  head 
heavily  against  Lucette's  arm  and  wearily 
closed  her  eyes. 

Lucette  and  Jute  exchanged  a  quick  glance 
as  Criss  slowfy  shaking  his  head,  remarked: 
153 


"Xebber  heard  dat  name  'round  dese  yer  dig- 
gin's." 

"\Ve  must  learn  this  woman's  abode,"  whisp 
ered  Lucette  to  Jute.  "Come,"  she  said,  gently 
helping  to  raise  Esperanza.  "We  will  gladly 
assist  you  home." 

Ksperanza  gazed  in  a  startled  manner  at 
Lucette  as  if  undecided  whether  to  trust  her 
or  not.  Then,  making  an  attempt  to  stand  up, 
with  the  assistance  of  Criss  and  Jute,  she  in  a 
trembling  voice  said :  ''Thanks,  lady,  I'm 
ready."  Raising  her  hand  languidly,  she  indi 
cated  the  direction  the  party  were  to  take,  say 
ing.  "L'p  yonder  trail."  Feebly  tottering,  they 
assisted  her  with  difficulty  up  the  rocky  moun 
tain  pass. 


159 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

TRACKED 

Seated  at  a  rustic  table  that  stood  on  the 
ground  in  front  of  the  "Eagle's  Rest"  sat 
Leigh  and  Miner  Joe  on  the  afternoon  late  of 
the  same  day  of  the  preceding  chapter.  They 
were  earnestly  conversing  and  Miner  Joe, 
busily  engaged  in  refilling  Leigh's  glass  from 
the  bottle  which  stood  upon  the  table,  insisting 
that  Leigh  partake  abundantly  of  the  wine,  say 
ing:  "Da  besta  drinka  in  da  world.  Wine  giva 
man  da  strength  of  onea  lion.  Who  is  data 
fellar?"  asked  Joe  of  Leigh  as  he  looked 
steadily  at  DeMonte,  who  at  that  moment 
came  along  and  seated  himself  at  a  rustic 
table  opposite,  and  was  soon  engaged  in  read 
ing  a  newspaper. 

"Why,  don't  you  know  him?  That's  the 
boss.  'Lucky'  they  call  him  around  here." 

"I've  seena  data  fellar  befora.  I  ama  surea. 
He  is  a  nota  gooda  one,"  said  Joe,  scrutiniz 
ing  DeMonte. 

Leigh,  quickly  pouring  out  a  glass  of  wine, 
passed  it  to  Joe,  who  mechanically  took  it, 
Leigh  meanwhile  thinking  that  it  would  in- 
160 


duce  him  to  talk.  "We  are  friends  Joe,"  re 
marked  Leigh.  "Now  tell  me  where  have  you 
seen  that  man  (pointing  to  DeMonte)  be 
fore?  You  may  do  me  a  great  service  by  in 
forming  me." 

"I  owna  a  fishing  boata  down  at  Santa  Cruz. 
One  day  I  bea  busy  catcha  da  fisha.  I  seea  two 
mana  onea  boata.  Thata  fellar  upset  da  boata. 
Den  da  two  mana  fella  in  da  water.  He  savea 
he's  selfa,"  said  Joe,  nodding  toward  DeMonte. 
Then,  continuing,  "He  leta  da  other  mana  go. 
Wella,  I  myself  a  savea  da  other  mana  and 
tooka  him  to  my  housea  on  da  beacha.  I  goa 
back  to  my  fisha  and  da  nexta  da  I  finda  thisa 
picture,"  said  he,  pulling  out  a  miniature  from 
his  pocket  and  handing  it  to  Leigh. 

"Did  you  ever  meet  him  again?"  asked 
Leigh  inquiringly. 

"I  lefta  da  Santa  Cruz.  I  never  seea  hfm 
until  thisa  time." 

"Would  you  know  the  man  whose  life  you 
saved?"  inquired  Leigh  of  Joe,  earnestly. 

"I  remembera  hisa  facea  wella." 

"You  are  a  brave  man  Joe,"  said  Leigh, 
grasping  his  hand  across  the  table.  "And  you 
are  my  friend,  Joe." 

"Phew!  Fse  had  'venture  'miff  fo'  one  day," 
said  Criss,  addressing  the  crowd  who  happened 
161 


to  be  lounging  in  front  of  the  "Eagle's  Rest," 
as  he  passed  by.  He  stopped  a  moment  to  ar 
range  his  tie  and  brush  the  dust  from  his  boots 
with  a  large  bandana,  which  he  drew  forth 
from  his  pocket. 

"An  adventure?"  asked  DeMonte,  suddenly 
dropping  the  newspaper  he  had  been  reading. 
"\Yhat  adventure  was  that,  Criss?" 

"We  stumbled  upon  a  woman  lyin'  sense 
less  'pon  da  mountain  pass.  It  seems  some  one 
struck  her." 

"Some  half-breed,  no  doubt,"  returned  De- 
Monte,  assuming  an  air  of  bravado.  "What 
has  become  of  her  now.?" 

"Ask  me  an  easy  one  'Lucky/  replied  Criss. 
"De  Salbationists  and  myself  offer'd  to  see  da 
woman  sably  home.  She  took  us  as  far  as  da 
cliffs,  when  she  gib  us  da  slip.  We  loss  all 
track  ob  her,"  continued  Criss,  as  he  lightly 
ran  up  the  steps  of  the  "Eagle's  Rest." 

"It  is  Esperanza  they  encountered,"  thought 
DeMonte  to  himself,  biting  his  lip  with  rage. 
"She  must  have  taken  refuge  in  one  of  the 
caves.  She  will  not  escape  me  again,"  he  vowed 
under  his  breath.  "I  thought  I  had  finished 
her  this  time." 

"J  iay,  boss,"  called  out  Leigh,  turning  to 
DeMonte.    "You   are   acquainted   pretty   well 
162 


around  this  part  of  the  country.  Suppose  we 
form  a  searching  party  and  try  to  ferret  her 
out." 

"She  may  need  assistance,"  quietly  remarked 
Lucette,  who  was  seated  on  a  bench,  resting 
after  her  long  walk. 

"My  time  is  much  too  valuable,  lady,  to 
waste  in  scouring  the  country  looking  for  a 
wild  half-breed." 

"Remember,  she  is  a  woman,"  said  Lucette 
reproachfully. 

"Yes,  madam,"  returned  DeMonte  bowing, 
a  sarcastic  smile  playing  about  the  corners  of 
his  mouth.  "And  probably  would  require  the 
services  of  her  own  sex.  If  she  has  taken 
refuge  about  the  cliffs  it  would  be  almost  a 
miracle  to  find  her."  Bowing,  he  walked  away. 

"Keep  an  eye  on  that  fellow,"  whispered 
Leigh  to  Joe. 

"Leavea  thata  toa  me,"  answered  Joe,  as 
he  leisurely  sauntered  off  in  the  same  direction 
DeMonte  had  taken. 

Lucette,  drawing  near  Leigh,  excitedly 
whispered:  "It  was  the  gypsy  woman  we  met. 
She  must  be  connected  with  DeMonte  in  some 
way.  It  was  he  who  struck  her." 

"Come  then,"  excitedly  cried  Leigh.  "We 
must  form  a  searching  party  and  away  to  the 
cliffs.  The  net  coils  around  him.  Quick  to 
summon  a  posse  to  track  him." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   CAVE   IN   THE   SIERRAS 

The  sky  was  one  lucent  glare  from  the  rays 
of  the  setting  sun,  which  cast  its  radiance  in  a 
glorious  farewell  as  if  kissing  and  caressing 
the  cliffs  in  its  good  night  embrace.  The  birds 
had  long  since  gone  to  rest.  The  silent 
grandeur  of  the  mountainous  canyon  was 
aweing.  All  nature  seemed  to  be  at  rest,  only 
to  be  awakened  by  a  fleeting  footstep  which 
disturbed  the  sublime  quietude  in  the  form  oi 
Esperanza,  the  gypsy,  who  quickly  ran  breath 
lessly  panting,  toward  the  entrance  of  a  secret 
cave  which  had  been  her  abode  since  the  night 
she  had  deserted  her  mountain  hut. 

Looking  quickly  around  as  if  she  were  pur 
sued  by  some  unseen  presence,  and  reassuring 
herself  that  she  was  undetected,  she  entered 
the  cave,  and  with  her  heart  violently  throb 
bing,  she  sank  down  upon  a  rude  pallet  which 
was  one  of  the  few  furnishings  of  the  interior 
of  the  rocky  structure. 

"Home  at  last,"  she  exclaimed.  "Surely  the 
strangers  could  not  have  tracked  me,  fleet  as 
I  am.  Did'st  I  in  my  madness  allow  an  un- 
164 


guarded  word  to  escape  my  lips?  If  so — Oh, 
Roderick,  thou  hath  brought  thy  doom  upon 
thyself."  Sighing  deeply,  she  arose,  and,  cross 
ing  over  to  one  end  of  the  cave,  she  drew 
aside  a  large  dried  skin  which  served  as  a 
portier  to  the  adjoining  apartment,  or  inner 
cave.  Listening  intently  for  a  moment,  and 
apparently  satisfied,  she  returned  to  the  pal 
let  where  she  cast  herself  down,  murmuring, 
"My  tortured  brain  needs  rest — rest.  Sleep — 
blessed  sleep — come,  come  to  mine  eyes,"  she 
cried.  "Oh,  Nature's  sweet  repose.  Come, 
come  to  my  aid." 

Her  drowsy  orbs  needed  only  to  be  closed 
when  the  sweet  sleep  which  her  tortured  brain 
and  body  required,  lulled  her  to  rest.  As  she 
lay  asleep  upon  the  rude  pallet  her  beautiful 
face  flushed  with  the  excitement  of  the  strenu 
ous  past  hour,  her  luxuriant  tresses  escaping 
from  their  massive  coils  and  falling  carelessly 
upon  the  moss  pillow,  her  beautiful  molded  arm 
thrown  above  her  classic  face,  she  formed  a 
picture  for  an  artist's  dream.  Her  perfectly 
formed  bosom  rose  and  fell  with  a  regular 
motion  as  Nature's  deep,  sweet  sleep  stamped 
its  refreshing  balm  on  Esperanza's  form. 

Suddenly  a  hand  stealthily  parted  the  curtain 
at  the  entrance  to  the  cave,  revealing  the  dark 
165 


sinister  face  of  Roderick  DeMonte,  as  he 
cautiously  peered  within  and  then  ventured  to 
ward  the  sleeping  gypsy,  Esperanza.  Gazing 
around,  he  listened  attentively  and  was  so  in 
tently  occupied  in  his  efforts  not  to  arouse  the 
fair  sleeper  that  he  failed  to  perceive  the  form 
of  a  burly  stranger  who  entered  the  cave  im 
mediately  after  him,  concealing  himself  behind 
a  projecting  rock  which  kind  nature  had  placed 
within  the  cave. 

"Ah,"  hissed  DeMonte,  as  a  lurid  glare 
spread  o'er  his  countenance.  "So,"  soliloquized 
he.  "I  have  found  your  abode  at  last.  Now, 
I  intend  to  exterminate  you  from  my  path  for 
ever.  No  one  evidently  knows  of  this  secret 
haunt.  Yon,"  he  hissed,  a  glitter  in  his  snake- 
like  eyes,  as  he  bent  over  her  and  scanned  her 
placid  features.  "You  know  my  secret,  but  it 
shall  die  with  you.  Sleep,  woman,  sleep  the 
eternal  sleep  with  that  smile  on  your  face." 
And  raising  his  hand,  "This  knife " 

"Hold  !  Yillian,"  excitedly  cried  the  burly  in 
dividual,  who,  unperceived  by  DeMonte, 
rushed  from  behind  the  shielding  rock  and 
dashed  the  knife  from  DeMonte's  hand,  just 
as  he  was  about  to  thrust  it  into  Esperanza's 
heart. 

The  tumult  awakened  the  gypsy,  who  sud- 
166 


denly  arose  and  in  a  dazed  manner  confronted 
the  two  men. 

"Who  are  you?"  exclaimed  DeMonte,  with 
baffled  rage,  and  turning  deathly  pale  as  he 
was  taken  by  surprise.  Advancing  a  step  to 
recover  the  knife,  he  again  cried  out:  "Fiend, 
who  are  you  ?" 

"Larry  Leigh,"  pronounced  the  burly  in 
dividual,  as  he  instantly  removed  his  false 
beard  and  defiantly  faced  him. 

"I'll  have  your  life,"  excitedly  retorted  De- 
Monte,  the  cold  perspiration  breaking  out  all 
over  him,  and  making  a  lunge  at  Leigh,  he 
stooped  quickly  and  recovered  the  knife.  With 
uplifted  arm  he  was  on  the  verge  of  inflicting 
on  Leigh  a  severe  blow,  when  Lieutenant 
Fielding  suddenly  appeared  at  the  entrance 
of  the  adjoining  apartment  within  the  cave. 
His  left  arm  was  still  in  a  sling,  and  with  his 
right  hand  he  leveled  a  pistol  at  DeMonte, 
coolly  exclaiming:  "Move  another  inch  and  I 
will  send  a  bullet  through  your  heart." 

"Ah !  the  escaped  assassin,"  cried  DeMonte, 
livid  with  fear,  as  he  immediately  recognized 
and  pointed  to  the  long-sought-for  lieutenant. 

The  commotion  instantly  brought  Lucette 
and  Jute,  who  had  accompanied  Leigh  to  the 
cave,  upon  the  scene,  as  the  gypsy  woman  de- 
167 


fiantly  exclaimed,  her  eyes'  riveted  on  De- 
Monte  wildly:  "Thou  art  the  assassin,  I,  the 
witness,"  she  asserted,  her  eyes  flashing,  her 
cheeks  burning  with  overwrought  excitement. 

"Saved!  Bertie  saved,"  joyfully  cried  Lu- 
cette,  rushing  to  the  lieutenant's  side  and 
throwing  her  arms  wildly  about  his  neck. 
Casting  her  bonnet  and  gray  wig  aside,  her 
lovely  golden  head  of  massive  curls  nestled 
on  the  lieutenant's  bosom. 

"Lucette!  You?"  cried  the  lieutenant,  re 
turning  her  embrace  affectionately  in  the  ex 
citement  of  the  moment. 

DeMonte,  staggering,  turned  livid  with  sup 
pressed  rage  as  he  beheld  Lucette  in  the  lieu 
tenant's  embrace. 

"God  bress  yo',  Massa  Bert.  I'se  Jute,"  said 
she,  uncovering  her  frowsy  head.  "  'Scuse  ma 
costum' "  agitatedly  cried  she,  trembling  visi 
bly  with  the  excitement  she  was  compelled  to 
undergo. 

"Now  to  escape,"  thought  DeMonte.  Quickly 
seizing  the  opportunity  caused  by  the  reunion 
of  the  lovers,  he  made  a  bold  dash  for  liberty 
through  the  entrance  to  the  cave  and  was  lost 
to  sight  before  the  startled  party  were  aware 
of  his  escape. 

The  entire  occupants  of  the  cave  instantly 
168 


started  in  pursuit,  led  by  Leigh.  He  had  hardly 
reached  the  entrance  to  the  cave  when  they, 
were  astonished  to  behold  De  Monte  being 
backed  in  to  the  interior  of  the  cave  cower 
ing.  Held  at  bay  by  Miner  Joe,  who  had  him 
covered  with  two  revolvers.  The  Sheriff  and 
the  posse  closely  following. 

"I  keepa  two  eyes  on  dis  fellah,  and  I  keepa 
one  handa,  too." 

"What's  the  trouble  here,"  demanded  the 
sheriff  in  a  gruff  voice. 

"Well,  Sheriff,"  spoke  up  Leigh,  "That 
man,"  indicating  DeMonte,  "has  made  an  at 
tempt  to  assassinate  this  woman,"  said  he, 
pointing  to  Esperanza. 

"He  is  nota  da  firsta  person  hea  trya  to 
kill,"  said  Miner  Joe,  looking  at  DeMonte  as 
he  shook  his  head  knowingly. 

"Secure  him,  men,"  commanded  Sheriff 
Hunt,  whereupon  the  posse  surrounded  De- 
Monte. 

"Gran  Dio,"  exclaimed  Joe,  recognizing  the 
lieutenant.  Turning  to  Leigh  he  whispered: 
"Thata  isa  the  mana  whose  lifea  I  sava." 

"Excuse    me — one   moment,    Sheriff,"    said 
Leigh,  crossing  to  the  side  of  the  lieutenant. 
Producing   a   miniature,   he   asked :    "Do  you 
recognize  this,  Lieutenant?" 
169 


Lieutenant  Fielding,  examining  the  mina- 
ture,  answered  in  a  low  voice,  "My  mother's 
face." 

"Then  it  was  you,"  asserted  Leigh,  turning 
to  Joe.  "And  not  that  scoundrel,"  indicating 
DeMonte,  "who  rescued  you,  Lieutenant,  from 
a  watery  grave,"  saying  this,  he  looked  at 
DeMonte  in  utter  contempt. 

"This  man  is  dangerous,"  said  the  sheriff  im 
patiently,  "as  he  has  made  an  attempt  to  take 
this  woman's  life " 

"And  mine  also,"  interrupted  Lieutenant 
Fielding,  stepping  boldly  forward.  "And,"  re 
sumed  he,  "but  for  the  kindness  of  this  gypsy 
woman  I  would  never  have  survived  the  mur 
derous  assault  which  that  villain,  DeMonte, 
inflicted  upon  me." 

"I  suppose  you  recognize  this  also,"  said 
Leigh  to  Lieutenant  Fielding,  handing  him  a 
small  white  card. 

"Yes,"  answered  Lieutenant  Fielding,  slowly 
perusing  it.  "The  address  you  wrote  for  father 
the  night  before  he  left  home,"  said  the  lieu 
tenant,  looking  up  inquiringly. 

"Then,  Sheriff,"  said  Leigh,  "I  furthermore 
accuse  Roderick  DeMonte  of  being  the  mur 
derer  of  Mr.  Fielding." 

"Great  God,"  cried  Lieutenant  Fielding,  a 
170 


cold  clammy  prespiration  oozing  from  his 
forehead.  "My  father  murdered?"  he  gasped, 
sinking  down  on  a  stump  of  a  tree  which 
served  as  a  seat  in  the  rude  apartment.  "Oh, 
this  cruel,  cruel  blow,"  cried  he,  "staggers' 
me,"  as  he  clutched  his  head  with  his  un 
harmed  hand. 

"Bertie,  dear,"  caressingly  said  Lucette, 
kneeling  beside  Tiim  and  endeavoring  gently 
to  soothe  him.  "And  you,  you  Bertie,  have 
been  accused  of  the  crime.  But  I,  for  one 
moment,  never  doubted  your  innocence,"  she 
tearfully  cried. 

"\Yoman?"  questioned  the  lieutenant,  rising 
and  looking  searchingly  into  Esperanza's 
face,  "Why  have  you  concealed  this  from 
me  ?" 

Bowing  her  head,  she  answered  in  a  cold, 
still  voice.  "Thou  wert  ill  unto  death." 

"My  father  murdered,"  repeated  Lieutenant 
Fielding,  dazed  with  despair.  "Dead !  Dead !" 
continued  he  in  a  bewildered  voice.  Then  sud 
denly  glaring  at  DeMonte,  he  rushed  threaten 
ingly  toward  him,  crying  out:  "And  by  you — 
fiend."  Lucette  tearfully  rushed  between  them 
and  cried,  "Withhold,  Bertie,  for  my  sake. 
Don't  sully  your  hands  on  that  wretch." 

"Come  boys,  make  haste.  Make  ready  the 
noose,"  commanded  the  sheriff. 
171 


"So  it  is  you  who  has  betrayed  me,"  hissed 
DeMonte  to  Esperanza,  his  eyes  wildly  glar 
ing  from  their  sockets. 

.  "Thou  hast  earned  thy  doom,"  she  said  sul 
lenly,  clutching  her  hands  nervously. 

"Baffled!  Defeated!  Overcome!"  cried  De- 
Monte,  surveying  the  crowd  in  his  wild 
despair. 

"Confess  you  are  guilty  of  these  crimes," 
commanded  Sheriff  Hunt,  looking  sternly  at 
DeMonte. 

"Guilty?  What  can  I  say  in  my  defense? 
Hunted !  Defeated !  Overcome !  With  an  in 
furiated  mob  seeking  my  life's  blood.  You 
shall  have  it.  Then  let  no  one  say  that  Roderick 
DeMonte  died  a  coward.  Away  with  the  noose 
and  Fll  stand  target  for  your  vengeance." 

"For  my  sake  grant  his  last  request," 
piteously  implored  Esperanza,  kneeling  at  the 
feet  of  Sheriff  Hunt. 

"  Tis  well."  replied  the  sheriff,  bluntly. 
"We'll  grant  that  request." 

"Thanks,  release  me,"  said  DeMonte,  with 
a  sigh,  the  color  receding  from  his  face,  leav 
ing  it  as  ghastly  as  a  chiseled  marble  statue. 
"Allow  my  arms  to  be  free.  There  is  no  earthly 
escape  for  me  now.  I'm  doomed,"  cried  he 
hoarsely,  bearing  his  breast.  "Now  fire." 
172 


"Steady,  aim,  fire,"  commanded  the  sheriff. 

Before  the  last  command  escaped  the 
sheriff's  lip,  Esperanza  deftly  threw  herself  in 
front  of  DeMonte.  With  outstretched  arms  she 
received  the  bullet  that  was  intended  for  De- 
Montc. 

A  murmur  of  horror  ran  through  the  as 
sembled  group  as  Esperanza  fell  mortally 
wounded.  With  great  difficulty  she  managed 
to  drag  herself  close  to  DeMonte.  Gasping: 
"My  death  wound.  I'm  dying.  My  life  for 
thine.  Say,"  she  said  gasping,  "at  last  you — 
love — me." 

"I  hate  you,"  he  bitterly  said,  bending  over 
her,  and  dying  you  still  have  my  farewell 
curse.  You  betrayed  me.  My  death  be  on  your 
head." 

"So  be  it,"  gasped  she,  and  in  her  last  dying 
agony  she  made  one  strenuous  effort.  Drag 
ging  herself  on  her  knees  and  grasping  her 
stilletto  from  her  belt,  with  a  death-grip  she 
plunged  it  quickly  into  his  heart.  Then  fell 
lifeless  at  his  feet. 

"Ah,"  gasped  he,  receiving  the  fatal  thrust, 
he  fell  dead  over  her  lifeless  body. 

As  the  group  gathered  around,  awed  by  this 
unexpected  tragedy,  Lieutenant  Fielding 
173 


broke    the    solemn    silence,    saying:    "Let    us 
hasten  away  from  this  accursed  spot." 

"Where  the  gypsy's  prophecy  has  been  ful 
filled,"  tremblingly  cried  Lucette. 

"And  an  outraged  love  has  been  avenged," 
solemnly  asserted  Larry  Leigh. 


THE  END. 


174 


6969      9 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  LOS  ANGELES 

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